When Is A Seal NOT A Seal?
by Mardy Lass
Summary: SPOILERS TO 4x14. Knives and lives, songs and wrongs, itches and stitches. Not necessarily in that order. An old friend needs The Boys. But as usual, it isn't as simple as it first appears. Contains OC from 'A Helluva Level of Malevolence'. NOT a sequel.
1. Sealed Of Dreams

**Author's Note:**

The OC is my own. They originally appeared in '_A Helluva Level O' Malevolence_'. This story is **not** a sequel - the character just re-appears (by popular request. Thanks, you readers, you!).

_For Mizpah, a little oasis in a drought, who opened the door just enough of a crack to make me think Zachariah was talking to me._

_And for my sister, who put up with me going on about how much I missed writing for the entire LA convention weekend of 27-29th March, 2009._

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**ONE**

**Sealed of Dreams**

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He was standing at the door, his hand still holding it open for his wayward brother, looking into the busy bar room. The girl behind the counter, an Amazon Queen if ever he saw one, waved at him cheerily and beckoned him in with a wickedly enticing finger.

He grinned and let go of the door, not caring if anyone were behind him or not, or indeed if the door whacked into them as a result. He sauntered up to the bar, finding a space in the crowd. He laid both elbows on the top and lent his weight to them, clasping his hands together. The barmaid did likewise, grinning at him from barely six inches away.

"Evening," she said, one eyebrow tweaking upwards as she looked his face over. "And what can I do for _you_?"

"Do you want the short list?" Dean breathed, his eyes slowly sweeping over her face. If the Eye Police had been on duty, both jade orbs would have been arrested for Intent To Cause Combustion and Manslaughter By Charm on the spot.

The bar room door burst open and he and several other patrons turned to see a chattering, laughing crowd of twenty-something girls whoosh in. They looked around, found three vacant tables, and spread their group across it noisily.

"Right, this end is all the poker players, right?" one louder voice called over their chatter. Girls jumped up and changed places until they all seemed to be pretty well organised. The original girl surveyed the new arrangements. "We're one short. I'm not paying strip poker with only five players."

Heads turned and looked toward the bar. There was a buzzing as their heads came together and they conferred. A collective chuckle of agreement followed and the five hopeful poker players sprang to their feet, swarming toward the males leaning against the wooden counter still.

The man to Dean's left cleared his throat and stepped forward slightly, smiling. "Well, evenin' girls," he began.

One girl pushed her way to the front of the group. She pointed at the man. "You," she said firmly, before hooking her thumb back over her shoulder, "take a hike."

His head bowed immediately and he walked off. The girl turned and looked at Dean, smiling slightly and sauntering a little closer than would have been allowed under the Personal Space, Breaking Thereof guidelines. She looked him up and down.

"We were wondering if you'd like to help us out with a problem," she oozed slowly.

"Just me? Help all of you?" he blinked with apparent innocence.

There was a group '_Yes!_' and he laughed wickedly.

"Well, let me think about this," he grinned nonchalantly, leaning his weight back on his elbows, still stationed on the bar. "Just what do I have to do?"

"Well…" she began with an indulgent smile, "first of all, we need another poker player."

"Ok, that I can do," he nodded confidently.

"And second, we need…" She bit her lip, then looked round at the group of eager girls. She leaned into him, putting her mouth very close to his left ear as she whispered something.

Dean's head turned to watch hers pull away again, a look of awe on his face.

"All _five_ of you?" he dared. She nodded meaningfully and he clapped his hands together, rubbing them eagerly. "Right then, let's blow this pop-stand and get started," he grinned.

There was a sudden blaring, impossibly loud guitar strain and everything seemed to become hazy. The bar room, the girls, everything looked slightly wobbly. The entire room began to shake and turn into whispy trails of colour. The ceiling disappeared, the girls began to shimmer and bleed away into strips of pigment.

"Aw _man_," Dean protested, "I _knew_ this had to be a dream."

He blinked and found himself looking at a very dingy ceiling in a very dingy motel room. He heard the guitar squealing away and groaned in the darkness. He rolled from his back to his right side, snatching the phone off the bedside table. He heard his brother's muttered protests from a bed far off in the darkness and ignored him to answer the call.

"Yeah'ello," he sniffed.

"Hello?" said a very small, timid voice. "Hello?"

"Yes," he said firmly, raising his volume. "Who is this?"

"Dean? Is that you?" came the girl's voice, and he collapsed on his front, rubbing at his eyes as they caught the bright red digits on the bedside alarm clock that read four twenty a.m.

"Yeah. Who's this?" he grumped.

"It's _you_? It's really _you_?"

"Yes! Now who's this?" Dean's hand stopped rubbing.

"You sound the same!" came the voice, sounding monumentally relieved.

"That's great - I'm hanging up now," he nodded pointedly.

"Wait! It's me! It's me. It's Moon," she admitted unhappily.

"Moon? Weh-- ah, how you been?" he managed with a surprised smile.

"Ah… been better," she withered, and his smile died.

"You ok? Where are you?" he asked suspiciously. "What's wrong?"

"Well… nothing. Really. I mean… Just checking they haven't… ah… Nothing. Just… a bad dream," she whispered.

Something about her voice made Dean shiver. He pushed himself to sit up, his feet swinging over the side of the bed and to the cold floor.

"Moon, we haven't spoken in nearly a year, and you call me at four in the morning to tell me everything's ok?" he pointed out warily. "What's happened?"

"Just a dream, really. I thought you were in trou--"

"Are you in any danger?" he interrupted.

"No, I'm fine, really," she said quickly. "Just these dreams sometimes freak me out, and I have to tell someone, and this one was--"

"Where are you?"

"I'm in Colorado," she said quietly.

"Where?" he barked, already standing and going for his clothes, hanging over the back of the chair.

"What's going on, man?" came a sleepy voice from the other side of the room.

"Ssshh," Dean hissed at Sam, picking up his jeans. "Moon, where in Colorado?"

"Paradox," she said quietly. "But--"

"We'll be there soon."

"Dean, you don't have to--"

"I said we'll be there soon," he urged. "Just stay where you are, calm down, and wait for us. Got it?"

"Ok," she replied, and she sounded a shade more relaxed. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet," he said, making himself calm down too. "I'll see you soon."

The line clicked and he pulled the phone from his face, looking at it. He thought for a long moment, then tossed the phone to the bed.

"Sam," he said loudly, turning for his jeans again.

"What?" he mumbled.

"Get up. Get dressed," he called, pulling the jeans round the right way and shoving a foot in quickly.

"What? Why?" he asked, opening weary eyes and rubbing them. Dean was already buckling his belt and looking for a t-shirt.

"We have to go, c'mon, up and at 'em," he ordered, clapping his hands briskly.

Sam rolled to get up, still scrubbing at his eyes. "Why?"

"Cos I've just had a phone call."

"From who?" Sam yawned.

"Moon."

"Moon!" Sam gasped, straightening unconsciously. "Moon Paloquin?"

"Well how many other people do we know named after a celestial body?"

"Sunny. Is she with her? They alright?"

"Vegas money's on the 'shit creek' square," he breathed, going to his duffle and opening it, searching for any clean t-shirt at all.

Sam scrambled out of bed and started his own search for clothes.

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* * *

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There was a _tap-tap-tap_ on the window and she jumped slightly. She swallowed and then ran in her thick socks to the door, leaning right to look through the assaulted pane of glass. She calmed herself and edged left to look through the spyhole in the motel door.

She spotted two shapes, the taller one at the back. She didn't even have to ask; she could feel the two of them - and their worry - from beyond the wooden divide.

She slid the two bolts back and ripped the door open. She hurled herself out of the door and wrapped her arms round the shorter figure, pressing herself into him gratefully. The smell of him, the solidity of him, the deafening silence of his surprise and happiness washed over her.

"_Shupshe_," she sighed gratefully.

"Hey there, Joan Jett," came his friendly growl and she grinned at last. She pulled herself away and looked up at him in the darkness.

"Come in," she said quickly, keeping hold of his sleeve with one hand, pulling him into the room with her. Dean let himself be led in, Sam's tall form following and closing the door behind them. "Sam," she said, suddenly edgy. "Good to - ah - see you."

"It's good to see _you_," Sam admitted with a warm smile. "You really made us worry. Everything ok?"

Her smile faltered and she let go of Dean's sleeve quickly. She put her hands to her waist, pushing them down her sides repeatedly as she thought of something to say. Her light brown shirt looked creased and well-worn. It matched her eyes too well.

"I… ah… I just needed to see someone who would… would…" Her voice tailed off as her eyes filled with water slowly. "God, I am so relieved! I'm so glad you're not… I just… I just…" She closed her eyes and put her hands over them, and both brothers heard the sound of hushed sobs.

_Here we go. This is where he orders me and my 'puppy eyes' into action_, Sam thought.

But Dean pulled off his jacket and threw it carelessly at the bed. "Hey, c'mon," he said innocently, "we don't smell that bad."

She crossed the carpet in an instant, putting her arms out desperately to cling to him. He was surprised for a long moment before clearing his throat and putting warm arms round her slowly. She grabbed onto him more tightly and he put a hand to her head, holding her tight against his neck. He waited but she didn't seem to be able to stop crying silently. He looked over her head at Sam. He shrugged, just as baffled.

Dean took a deep breath. "What's happened?" he asked quietly. "Not that I mind driving across the state like this, but we missed breakfast and this place don't do sausages," he teased.

Something about his less than sympathetic manner slapped perspective on her actions. She managed to stop her crying and took a minute to control herself. She pulled herself away from him, looking up into puzzled eyes.

"This has been a really hard year," she admitted. "A really hard year."

"Where's Sunny?" Sam asked gently, looking around the motel room.

Dean shot him an irritated look, then adjusted his features to look down at Moon. "Let's see how much alcohol you have, and you can tell us all about it," he offered.

"Good plan," she nodded. "Sam," she said weakly, still watching Dean's curious face, "bag by the bathroom door? Whisky bottle?"

"Got it," Sam allowed, going to the bag as directed and pulling a new bottle out. He turned it in his hands. "Woah. Looks like something Dean might lift."

"I know," she sniffed miserably. "I didn't get the red one. I deliberately didn't get the red one," she said urgently.

"Ok, you didn't get the red one," Dean shrugged.

"I didn't get the red one cos it makes me see Sam kill demons with his mind and cannibals and teddy bears and dead FBI agents trying to kill me and shapeshifters and angels in dirty macs and demons like Alastair twisting words and angels with demons in the back seat and--"

"Woah woah woah," Dean interrupted quickly. "Slow down, Moon."

"You've seen all that?" Sam asked quietly. She turned and looked at him.

"And Dean," she said fearfully, looking back at him with raging terror in her eyes. "I've seen you die a hundred times. Sliced and torn to shreds, cut with knives and blades and all kinds of horrible teeth - clawed and ripped into pieces, then it happens all over again - I saw you, over and over--"

"Moon!" he snapped, putting his hands to her head, holding her still. She closed her mouth. "I'm right here," he said firmly. "I'm fine."

She swallowed and they looked at each other for a long moment. Then she sniffed, sliding her hands up over his and pulling them from her face slowly. She put her hand to the edge of his shirt, pulling it to one side. Her other hand went to the left side of his t-shirt collar, and she wrenched it down quickly to see underneath. She put her hand to his skin, staring. She let everything go quickly and stepped back one.

"It's gone," she whispered. "It's all gone. It's new. _You're_ new. You went down there, you came back. Back from the furnace without any of your old scars, right? No bullet wounds, knife cuts, none of the off-angle fingers from all the breaks - your new hide's smooth as a baby's bottom."

Sam watched her warily, wondering where he had heard those exact words before. His gaze ranged around the room, looking for evidence of Sunny, as he heard Dean speaking.

Dean was adjusting his t-shirt uncomfortably. "Yeah. I been shot a few times, always seems to be in that shoulder area. The Deal came due… I died. I went 'down there'. Then I came back," he allowed gingerly.

"So it's true?" she whispered. "I saw you. I saw everything. And I saw Sam killing demons. On his own. With just his hand and his mind."

"Moon?" Sam asked quietly, and she turned to him. "Ah… I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but… Do you have a lot of these dreams?"

She swallowed. "I didn't. Not till--. Then I dreamt about Dean - I didn't think they were real, but I had to really wonder why, if it was _my_ dream, why I was torturing him like that. All the rest came after. And that's all." She cleared her throat under their gaze. "Really, that's all."

"Where's Sunny?" Sam asked pointedly.

Moon looked at the floor, her eyes shining with tears.

"Moon," Sam said, a clear warning in his voice. "Where is she? Where's your sister?"

"She's… ah… She's not with us any more," she admitted.

Both boys stared, and the room became just a little smaller, a little darker.

"Not with us? You mean - you mean not _with_ us?" Sam dared slowly.

Dean looked at him, saw the upset all too easily. He looked back at Moon. "How long ago was this?"

Moon backed away to the bed slowly, looking at her hands. "About five months, two weeks and three days," she muttered. "Give or take an hour." She sat heavily, staring at her hands.

Sam let his head fall but Dean grabbed up one of the wooden chairs by the wall. He carried it across the carpet and set it in front of her, sitting no less heavily than she had. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

She didn't look at him, her gaze intent on her fingers. "Car crash," she managed. "Her and her friend were going to look up some old family." She paused, and Sam lifted his head to look at her. "She… ah… Her friend was driving, apparently. There was another car, he was over the limit so far they could--. He was very drunk," she interrupted in a small voice. "So the nice cop said."

"Moon," Dean breathed, pausing to run a hand over his mouth in frustration. "Why didn't you call us before now? Have you been alone all this time?"

"I'm alone but I'm not lonely, I'm with the only person who knows me," she whispered lamely.

"Yeah right, you and Jason Manns," Sam said with a brave attempt at a smile. She turned to look at him but couldn't make herself meet his eyes.

Dean looked at his brother then back at Moon, the reference lost on him. "Why didn't you call us?"

"I…" She sniffed and straightened slowly. "To tell the truth, I was afraid."

Sam ran his hands back through his hair and went to the remaining wooden chair. He picked it up and brought it over to the bed, sitting with a weariness born of apprehension.

"Of what?" he asked slowly.

"Of… I had nightmares about Sam all alone, and Dean being sliced n' diced in some really horrific place… I was so afraid that… that nothing had been able to save Dean from his Deal. I was afraid I'd call the number… I saw him use this number in a dream, and I wanted to… I wanted to call it but… I didn't want to find it not in service. I was afraid of never finding someone I could tell all this to. I was afraid of _finding_ someone I could tell all this to and they'd think I was nuts. I was afraid of looking at Sam…"

"What does that mean?" he asked sharply.

Dean spared him an annoyed glance. He looked back at Moon. "Well we're here now. What's gone wrong, apart from Sunny?"

"Where do I start?" she asked herself. "I read cards and people's minds and predict weather for people that can pay. I can't get a proper job cos I can't stop Seeing things and people's memories when they stand too close to me, and I can't get along with normal people. Once they realise you're a freak cos you can read their mind they go off you real quick." She paused. "And then there's the whole '_I'm suddenly having friggin' weirdo nightmares that make me wake up and go buy rotgut alcohol_'," she added lamely.

Sam raised his eyebrows at his brother. Dean felt his gaze and turned his head to look at him. Sam nodded his head to indicate Moon, then eyed Dean pointedly. Dean frowned at him dismissively, then got to his feet.

"Right. Well we ain't leaving you here, that's for damn sure," he said firmly. "We know someone who's gonna know exactly how to help you."

"Such a person exists?" she hazarded on a whisper.

"You need to meet a friend of ours," he said professionally, going to his jacket and picking it up.

"What friend?" she asked, but she sounded past caring.

Dean nodded. "Someone who can tell you more about who and why than you know."

"You're thinking Pamela?" Sam asked.

"I'm thinking Pamela," Dean nodded. "And you," he added, pointing at Moon sternly, "are riding up front with me, and explaining all the crap that's been going on since you never called us."

She smiled weakly. "Ok," she managed.

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_I'm back from my experimental break. Hope this one is no worse than my other attempts at opening chapters!_


	2. More Than A Sealing

**TWO**

**More Than A Sealing**

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Pamela Barnes heard the doorbell ring and bounced to the door. She felt for the handle and swung the door open with her trademark sunny smile.

"Hey Laura," she grinned from behind her black sunglasses.

"Hey Pamela," she agreed. She stood on the step, waiting, as always, for her invitation. _One of these days she'll take those shades off and I'll know she can see really_, she thought nervously.

"What's got you so edgy?" Pamela asked knowingly, stepping back and waving at the gap. "Come on in, girl."

Laura clutched her large canvas bag more tightly and stepped in through the front door. "Just thinking, Pamela," she admitted.

Pamela appeared to pause and her smile died. But abruptly she grinned wickedly. "And I know what about - that young man you're hoping is gonna call you. Right? Right?" she chuckled, pushing the door shut.

"Ah - yeah," she lied quickly.

Pamela smiled, folding her arms. "Ok then," she nodded, "where do you want me?"

"At the table will be fine," she managed, relaxing slightly. _So she doesn't read minds then - she doesn't know it's her that freaks me out just a little._

Pamela moved to the table in the middle of the room, her hands out, searching. Laura pushed long red hair over her shoulder and followed, waiting for her client to sit before pulling out her own chair.

"Been busy this week?" Pamela asked. Laura let her eyes wander over her client, noticing the Ramones t-shirt in navy blue, the bandana keeping her hair back, the amused look of curiosity on her face.

"Yeah, not too bad," she allowed.

"Good. I'd hate to think I was your only source of income," Pamela grinned. She didn't need eyes to know that her eighteen year old peripatetic was pleased with how she was dressed today; favourite faded jeans and a Fall Out Boy t-shirt signed by the band at some point.

"No, I still got three girls to do today," Laura allowed.

"Then we'd better get down to it," Pamela said. She put her elbows on the table, laying her hands out flat.

"Ok," Laura smiled. She put her bag on the table and opened up the satchel, pulling out her many boxes and materials. "What colour would you like today?"

"Hmm, that's a tough one," Pamela mused sarcastically. She thought for a long moment as Laura prepared her spray, taking Pamela's right hand and getting to work removing the existing black nail polish.

"I got some new colours," Laura offered. "I've got… ah, let me think," she muttered to herself, carefully making sure all of the polish was lifted completely. "Oh, I know - I've got like evil purple. It's kinda like… like if Tim Burton made a kinda thoughtful, little bit disturbed purple for deep people."

"Sounds good," Pamela grinned.

Ten minutes of careful application later and Paula sat back, looking at her handiwork critically.

"Are we done?" Pamela asked.

"We're done," Laura nodded, starting to pack all her bits and pieces back into her large bag.

"Cool." Abruptly Pamela turned her head and looked over at the front door. "Ah, Laura?" she asked slowly.

"Yeah?"

"Do me a favour, sweetie, take a look out of the window and tell me what you see."

"Ok," she agreed amiably, getting out of her chair and doing as instructed. She tilted her head slightly. "There's a big old car out there, looks like it's stopping by your gate," she said faintly. "A black one. It's got three people in it."

"Let me guess - there's a man in the driver's seat. Hair like high barley in a summer field of gold, profile you could chisel stone with, biceps the size of Texas?"

"Er - kinda," Laura allowed.

"That's cool - I know him," she grinned wickedly. "And the guy in the passenger seat: tall like Chewie, hide-me bangs and an ass you could bounce a nickel off?"

Laura's mouth floundered for a moment. "Well, I guess," she managed.

Pamela got up from the table slowly. "Then I guess I got work to do. Are we good?" she asked.

"Yeah - you're paid for another two colours," she said, walking back to the table. She picked up her bag and strung it over her shoulder securely. "You want me to let them in?"

"That would be very kind of you," Pamela smiled in her general direction.

Laura went to the door and opened it cautiously, looking out. Two men and a girl were walking up the path, taking their time.

"Here they are. I'll go now. See you in a few days?"

"Absolutely. Thanks, Laura."

"No problem," she smiled. She stepped out of the door and made her way down the path. She paused as the two men looked at her politely. "Hey," she ventured, and they stopped.

"Afternoon," the blonder one smiled.

"She's expecting you," she managed. Then she turned and carried on down the path.

The two men exchanged a glance and then the three of them carried on to the door.

Dean knocked at the open door loudly, looking in. "Winchester-o-gram!" he called cheekily.

"Dean! I knew I smelt animal," Pamela teased, going to the door and putting her hands out for his jacket. She slid them up to find his face, smoothing them over his features slowly. "Mmm. You look just the same."

"You look good, Pamela," he said warmly.

"Always," she said archly, then put her arms under his and round his back, squeezing firmly, almost lifting him off his feet. "Mmm-mmm, Dean," she oiled, "you always this pleased to see me, or is there more where that came from?"

He laughed but pulled her arms from round him, holding onto her hands. "We brought someone."

"I know," she scoffed, then pushed him aside gently. "Sam? Come here, you mountain of muscle," she grinned. She felt canvas jacket and warmth under her outstretched hands and grabbed him in a hug too. "Oooh, nice," she commented.

"How you been, Pamela?" he asked gently, and she pulled him away abruptly.

"Don't you try that tone of voice on me, boy," she tutted. "I don't go for timid little boys, and you know it."

He laughed. "Yeah. Anyways, this is Moon, she's--"

"Moon," she said loudly, putting her hand to Sam's arm and letting him step aside slowly. She kept a hand against him to orientate herself as she took a step forward. "That's not your real name, right?" she smiled. "Anyway, we'll just call you Moon."

Moon stared at her. "Ah… yeah," she answered politely.

"My, my, my, aren't you complex," she breathed. "And such…" She paused, clearing her throat quickly. "So - these two brought you here because?"

"Uh… Cos I've started having nasty dreams recently, and sometimes when I read cards for people I can't really concentrate on what I'm doing, and I keep doing the pull in people's free-floating thoughts thing and don't even know I'm doing it, and… and it might have something to do with not wanting to See any more," she admitted quietly.

"Oh honey - we can fix all that," Pamela said dismissively. "So which one of these ridiculously handsome men are you with?"

"Kinda with - well, sort of with - ah - Dean," she admitted.

Pamela's sightless gaze went from the young girl to the elder Winchester, as if something in the air were describing to her the look on his face. She turned back to Moon slowly. "Oh," she managed, quiet with understanding. "So that's how it is, is it?"

"How what is?" she asked dumbly.

Pamela put her hands up in surrender. "I'm saying nothing," she asserted. "Dean, Sam," she said loudly. "You two get in the kitchen and make coffee, make yourselves at home. Me and Moon have some stuff to work out," she said, nodding slowly.

"Yes ma'am," Dean said with a smile. He turned to walk away but Moon's hand shot out and grabbed his elbow. "Hey," he said mildly, putting his hand up and over hers. He squeezed it reassuringly. "We'll just be in the kitchen."

"And we'll just be sharing secrets and girl-talk," Pamela said knowingly. "Two of the Free World's most amazingly sexy psychics are about to collide. It's going to be _fun_," she chuckled wickedly. Then she pointed in Dean's direction with a knowing grin. "And no, you can't watch."

Sam's eyes realised someone had pushed them from the top of the water-slide and screamed in hysterical anticipation. They felt the swirling tides of familiarity and ruefulness fling them round in a huge arc, tumbling and jumbling over themselves as they were sucked along the water-slides of his bemusement. They pushed their hands out either side of them, squealing in joy as they whipped round faster and faster, the centrifugal force slamming them right round the eye sockets in a lightning fast three hundred and sixty degree joyride. It was over all too soon, and his eyes panted their breath back and high-fived each other, gasping that they make sure they do it again soon.

Sam, unaware of the simple joy that a bloody good eye-roll could bring to his hazel-green windows, just turned to his brother and put a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Just go," he advised, pushing at him to get moving.

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* * *

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Dean carried his cup out into the front room, looking round the small objects and items laying around the table and side cupboards. Sam emerged slowly, looking round the room and seeing his brother picking up a CD case from next to the stereo.

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with AC/DC," Dean muttered, turning to the back quickly to read the track list. "Holy crap! A _new_ new AC/DC album!" His eyes devoured the track names in a rush. "Never heard of these… Sam?" he said accusingly, lifting his eyes to watch his brother cross the room. "When were you gonna tell me there was a new album?"

"I heard about it. To be honest, the fact that you'd been brought back to life was more important," he sighed.

Dean looked back down at the CD case in his hand. "Well I'll be damned."

"You already were," Sam pointed out with a smile, pulling out a chair at the table and sitting. "Oh, and Metallica have a new one, too. If you're interested."

"_If_ I'm--? I swear," Dean sighed, shaking his head. He bent to the stereo and opened the CD tray, finding it already in. He pushed the button to close it again. "I swear, the moment my back's turned--"

"Six feet under."

"The moment I'm gone the whole world goes reunion crazy." He picked up the remote and pressed play, edging the volume up slightly as he found a chair and made himself comfortable at the large round table.

'_Rock n' Roll Train_' started up and he looked surprised. His expression of pleased eagerness stayed on his face for pretty much the whole song. At last the music had bashed its way to a stop and he smiled at Sam in wonder.

"Thank God for that," he grinned, and Sam looked at him, seeing the unexpected light in his eyes. "I was so worried it was gonna be crap."

Sam snorted in amusement, shaking his head as '_Skies On Fire_' began to play. They sat and listened, Dean intent on the music, Sam desperately trying not to think about people who weren't there.

"You think they do this on cassette?" Dean asked presently.

"What?" he said quickly, realising he had lost concentration, and somehow the CD was already on the next track.

"Can I get this on cassette?" he repeated deliberately, noticing Sam's vacant excuse for an interested expression.

"Cassette? Might do," he managed. "Seeing as they're one of the last groups to refuse to sell their stuff on iTunes. You probably won't find it on mp3."

"Empty whut?" Dean asked innocently.

Sam looked at him - just looked. Then he shook his head. "I'm sure Pamela will run you a copy if you ask her nicely."

"Sweet." Dean looked down at the table. He leaned back in the chair and propped the back of an ankle on it. He lifted his other foot to cross ankles and set his mug on the surface thoughtfully. "So," he added with reluctance, his gaze firmly fixed on the handle of his mug. He bent forward and picked up the remote, turning the volume down slightly. "Sunny."

"Don't," Sam sighed. He closed his eyes and suddenly he could see her - the smile, the bright eyes, the long brown hair that fell around her perfectly. He could hear her laugh, could feel her hand on his arm, could smell her clean sheets and remember the too short a time they had spent together.

"I'm trying to say I'm sorry," came Dean's voice, as if from far away. Sam opened his eyes quickly.

"Yeah, I know," he managed. "Tell you what, man," he added.

"Whut?"

Sam opened his mouth but suddenly the words wouldn't come.

_I miss the old days. I miss trying to find a way out of your Deal before it came due. I miss thinking that things were at least within our idea of control, that it was just us two against the world - with no annoying angels getting in our way._

He watched his older brother consider him, as if he were trying to read his younger sibling's thoughts.

_And I miss the days when you didn't try to do that. When you thought you knew me. I miss Sunny. I miss knowing she was a single phone call away. Why did I never make that call? Why did I never go down that road? Cos of you. You were more important. I'm not blaming you, bro. I'm just… I don't know what I'm 'just'._

He huffed and looked at the table, unable to acknowledge Dean's expression of wanting to understand.

"You're thinking the Angel of Death dude came for her?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam studied the table top. _I cannot lie to him, not when he's trying so hard_. He forced a small nod.

"Well hey, he wasn't such a bad guy. Cat. Guy. Thing," Dean amended uncomfortably. "I'm sure he's like--"

"Can we talk about something else?"

"Absolutely," Dean replied quickly.

Sam wiped his hands over his face, looking up at his brother finally. "What did Moon mean about not wanting to look at me?"

"Who knows, man. She's a chick, they got them weird ways of thinking," he grunted, apparently not interested in the least. But Sam noticed his eyes a little vague as he frowned at his mug. "What I want to know is, how and why is she dreaming of me in The Pit and you Jedi Mind Tricking demons to death?"

"Yeah. On top of losing Sunny, it can't be easy for her," he admitted.

"Yeah."

It was silent as the boys studied and sank their coffee slowly. Suddenly there was female laughter in stereo, and they lifted their heads to look in the vague direction of the landing above them.

"They seem to be getting along ok," Sam observed.

AC/DC played on. The boys waited.

.

* * *

.

"Ok, so take a load off," Pamela said, waving a hand around the room.

"This a private consultation room?" Moon smiled nervously.

"Oh sweetie, it's whatever I want to use it for. Now, relax a little and tell me how you met those two. I can tell it's going to be full of excitement and mayhem," she grinned, pulling out a chair and plonking herself down quickly.

Moon walked across the room slowly, watching her warily as she pulled out a similarly tall wooden chair and sat at the shiny round table. She dropped her bag to her feet, putting her hands in her lap.

"Have you done any hunting?" she asked quietly.

"Me? Nah. Just help out others that do sometimes," she smiled. "You know Bobby Singer?"

"Their friend with the salvage yard? Yeah," she said. "I kinda like him."

"Me too. Me and him go way back," Pamela grinned. "So anyway, how did you three meet?"

"Ah… they kinda saved me from being collected by a Potawatomi Angel of Death," she admitted. "Well, Dean kinda stepped in and… Anyway, he sorted it all out… and then… Er, it's complicated."

"Are we talking some huge cat dude that collects Native American souls when their time's up?" she asked, fascinated.

"Yeah."

"Cool! I've never met one - what are they like?" she asked.

Moon smiled slowly. "I can see why they like you."

Pamela laughed, then clasped her hands together and leaned on the table slowly. "Moon," she said slowly. "I'm going to ask you a question now, and you have to trust me that it's directly related to how I'm going to help you. Ok?"

"Ok," she said edgily.

"Now I know you're upset, and you're kinda free-falling right now. I know it has something to do with family and why you can't look at Sam. And I know you just want everything to be like it was when you first met those two boys downstairs," she added sadly. "But you know it can't. So you have to trust me when I say that we can help you get past this, figure all this out - and it'll be ok again. Not the same way, but it'll definitely be the most ok you've been in the last year. Alright?"

"Alright," she said slowly. "Can I… Can I ask a favour first?"

"Sure."

"Can you… can you take those sunglasses off? They kinda freak me out," she admitted.

Pamela laughed suddenly. "Well then, can't have that." She pulled off the glasses and folded them, putting them on the table. She opened her eyelids and blinked at the young girl with bright white, plastic orbs. "Better?"

"Much," Moon breathed. "Thanks."

"No problem. Most people like it the other way round."

"Most people don't know what we know."

"This is true," Pamela grinned. "I can see why they like _you_."

Moon felt herself staring to relax. "So what's the first question?"

"The first question may well be the root of all this," she said more seriously, her sightless gaze directed at her with a searing desire to know that could be felt across the room. "You don't have to answer. But if you do, it's really going to help us."

"Right," Moon said determinedly, sitting straighter in her chair.

"How long have you been completely worshipping Dean?"

Moon's mouth opened. Then it closed again.

"Ok, 'worship' is a strong word," Pamela allowed slowly. "How about… Why do you think he's the only good thing in this world?"

Moon considered her answer. "He's done things. For me, for other people. He did something for me that… Well, you know him," she added lamely. "You know why."

"Right," Pamela nodded with a smile. "So… How far does this go? You're hoping to get him in the sack at some point, even though you're like two-thirds his age?"

Moon shivered with revulsion abruptly, and Pamela felt it from across the table all too clearly. "Ugghh, no!" she protested. "That'd be like… like Christmas Eve and you go to a party and you drink and then there's mistletoe and you end up playing tonsil hockey with this really great guy who's really really good at it and then you open your eyes and it's your _brother,_" she spat, disgusted.

Pamela sat back slowly, amused. "How do you know about that?"

"Oh!" Moon said quickly, staring at her. "That was you? I'm sorry! I didn't know that I was--"

"Relax," Pamela laughed. "I see what you mean about losing concentration. Do you do this a lot? Pull memories from other people and don't know you do it?"

"Yeah," she admitted guiltily.

"Well that certainly clears up a few things."

"It does?" she asked, confused.

"Oh yes. Now then, tell me about the dreams. When did they start? Who did you see first, Dean or Sam?"

.

.


	3. Sealing That Way Too

**THREE**

**Sealing That Way Too**

.

Dean knew he was awake, but what puzzled him was the fact that he was warm, comfortable, and had just had possibly the best night's sleep that he could remember since his return from The Pit.

He didn't dare open his eyes, wanting the fuzzy, long-sought after feeling to last as long as possible. Instead he tried to work out how and why it had finally come about.

He knew he was more or less on his left side, a favourite old grey t-shirt on, which, other than his black shorts was all he had bar his amulet. The side of his face was pressed into the most amazingly warm and comfortable pillow in the entire universe, and he stretched his legs out and decided he could go back to sleep very easily. Without conscious thought or direction he pulled in a deep, satisfied breath, catching a slight scent as he did so. It reminded him of something, but his will to hold onto what tiny sliver of comfortable peace he had found easily shoved it aside in favour of staying blissfully unaware.

A tiny part of his brain informed the rest of it that he was using one of Pamela's spare rooms and, sheerly by dint of belonging to a woman, was bound to smell clean and a little girlie.

_Nice change from crappy motels that smell of mould_, he smiled to himself. He judged it a good time to go back to sleep, and turned slightly more to his front. His face slid up a tiny way, rubbing itself into the softness more comfortably, and another satisfied wisp of a sigh escaped him. His right hand felt another warm pillow under its careless lean and he ran it up the edge, following the side to get to the top.

He did not expect the firm, warm curve as his hand went up. And as he slid it under and inwards curiously, he certainly did not expect to feel a warm, cottony shoulder blade under his fingers.

His hand froze. His right eye popped open. It looked around.

"Don't be mad," came a very timid voice.

He recognised it. He recognised the owner of the tone of voice, and most definitely recognised the feeling that came with it.

"Moon?" he dared.

"Yeah."

He lifted his head slightly, confirming what he suspected. Moon was lying on her back on the top of his blankets in her ripped jeans. It was her faded Rush t-shirt that was providing the warm cottony feel against his fingers. At some point during the night Dean had rolled over and taken the liberty of mistaking her chest for his other pillow, and it seemed as though that had been a good few hours ago.

He was about to start kicking himself when he realised her hand was in the back of his hair.

"Your bed not warm enough?" he managed, his mind racing, tasking itself to find a way out of this gracefully without hurting anyone's feelings.

"Sure," she said quietly. "But… I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to dream anything. I wanted a quiet place to think, where I'd be safe, and…" She paused and he hiked his free left elbow under him to at least distance himself from her front politely. "I just… You're the safest place I know," she admitted.

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. His right hand pulled away from her side and went to the edge of the mattress.

"I didn't listen to what you were dreaming, honest," she said quickly. "Pamela showed me some focusing tricks and I made sure I wasn't--"

"Moon… You could have just said you didn't want to be alone," he breathed, relieved on more than one level. "You're lucky Sam got the room next door."

"Sam," she muttered, and her face turned dark. It wiped the reassuring smile from Dean's face. "I can't look at him. I can't."

"Moon--"

"He loved her, Dean. He loved my sister. And now she's dead," she babbled, her eyes starting to fill with water. "How do I - how am I supposed to just say 'hey Sam, how's tricks?' like he should be totally unaffected by--"

"Moon," he interrupted sharply. She bit her lip quickly, using it to control her urge to cry. "Sam will get over it. Sounds harsh, but he will. I'm not sayin' it's gonna be easy for you to get over her, and to be honest I don't think you ever really will." He swallowed uncomfortably. "I can only imagine what it's like for you." He paused, as if weighing something up. "But you've got friends here. And you're not alone now. Right?"

"Right," she managed weakly. "I'm so glad you're here, _Shupshe_."

She pulled on the hand behind his head, moving down slightly and putting her other arm round him. He had no choice but to let her, his intimate position with the side of her neck telling him she was fighting to control her breathing and the will to cry. He slid his chin up over her shoulder to rest on it innocently. He leaned his weight on his hand to the mattress to keep from literally lying on her.

The door wanged open with alarming speed and Sam took a step into the room.

"C'mon then lazy-ass, rise and sh--"

He stopped dead at the sight that greeted him. Moon looked up and over quickly as Dean's head shot up.

"It's not what you think!" they called together.

Sam just blinked at the pair of them. "Coffee. Front room. In. The."

Then he stepped back one and hauled the door shut in front of his face quickly.

Moon sniffed at the door, then pulled her head back and looked at Dean from perhaps four inches away.

She tried very hard to stop herself, but his eyes were already wrinkling at the sides. It spread innocent amusement across his face and she couldn't help herself; she laughed too.

.

* * *

.

Sam tapped the book and sat back. "Says here they were only ever a myth," he announced.

"Yeah? Well she's seen 'em too many times in too many dreams for them to be a figment of her imagination," Pamela said knowingly. She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms thoughtfully. "What I don't get is why she didn't want me to know."

"You talked about her dreams?" Sam asked quietly.

"Yeah. Poor girl's having a regular _Nightmare On Elm Street_ coupla months," she sighed. "She's got this latent connection to Dean - that she won't explain and I can't seem to see - and it seems she saw a lot of shit he went through when he was in the Pit. Can only imagine the horrors," she shivered.

"Yeah," Sam managed uneasily.

"Then… Then she starts seeing stuff about… what does the book call them again?"

"Spider monkey bats," Sam said, repressing a smile.

"Spider monkey bats. Of all the goddamn things to be dreaming about, it's flying spider monkey bats," Pamela sighed.

"Uh, Pamela?" he asked carefully. She tilted her head to look in his direction, blinking her white plastic orbs at him out of habit. "Uh… Did she mention… did she say why she couldn't look at me?"

Pamela considered something for a long moment. "No, she didn't," she replied vaguely. "It worries you?"

"Kinda," he allowed.

"She just said she couldn't look in your eyes. _At_ your eyes. _In_ your eyes," she amended.

Sam felt mortified fear spread up his spine in white hot streaks. "Oh, is that all," he muttered.

"Why? What's the matter?" she asked quickly. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," he lied quietly. "Nothing."

There was a squeak and he looked up at the stairs gratefully. But he could feel Pamela's sightless gaze on the side of his face. He refused to look at her.

Instead he saw Dean walking down the stairs in his socks, looking around the room below him.

"Morning," Pamela called knowingly as he met the bottom. "What have you been doing to that poor girl?"

"How did you know it was me?" Dean smiled, approaching the table.

"Cos unless Moon put on a hundred pounds overnight, she ain't got your tread," she teased. Dean shrugged to himself, laying a hand on her shoulder as he passed her to the empty chair. "And you smell like a man who is glad of a clean shirt this morning. Not prepared for your little rescue mission in the wee hours?" she smiled.

"Who, me? I was born to run on a phonecall," he smiled as he sat down. He looked across at Sam. "Whatcha got there?" he asked innocently. Sam slid the book over to him and Dean leaned it up to see it, frowning in concern. "Spider monkey bats," he stated slowly, in a tone that could have been used to express ten years of doubt over every single X-File in one soundbite.

"Yup," Sam shrugged. "Apparently, Moon's seen these."

"Except she thinks I don't know," Pamela interrupted. "She's had some nasty dreams - about you, about monsters, about Sam, and finally, about these."

"Aw _crap_," Dean cursed vehemently.

Pamela's eyebrows went up quickly. "Mean something to you?"

"Never heard of 'em before in my life. Lives," he amended. "Does it say how to kill the freaky bastards?" he asked quickly.

"Why?" Sam frowned.

"Cos she saw me in the Pit - real. She saw Sam killing demons without me - real. She saw half the monsters we've dealt with since I came back - real. Now she's seeing--" He paused to read the name on the page again: "spider monkey bats? Then they're real somewhere."

Pamela's frown turned into a small smile that pulled at the side of her mouth.

Sam just stared at him. "Yeah, well, I've tried all my usual sources on the 'net and I even called Bobby. No-one's ever seen a real one," he pointed out.

"Angel! Right there!" Dean gasped abruptly, pointing past Sam's shoulder. He whipped round in his seat to see behind him. There was, of course, nothing and no-one else in the room. He tutted and turned back. "You get me?" Dean asked pointedly.

Sam huffed but Pamela put her right hand out, laying it on his forearm on the table. "Your brother's got a point," she admitted.

"See?" Dean smiled unctuously.

"But it doesn't explain how Moon has been able to see everything since he rose from the dead," she added.

"Se--. Whut?" Dean blurted, looking at her.

Pamela let go of Sam's arm. "She's only had these dreams since late September. Hmm, what do we know, concerning you boys, that happened around then?" she asked deliberately. She swung round to face Dean's direction. "How has she seen everything you've been doing? Why was it, when I went to check on her early this morning, she wasn't in her own bed? Something you want to tell us?" she asked politely.

"Hey, what is this? I wasn't expecting the Spanish Inquisition," Dean protested.

"_Nobody_ expects the Spanish Inquisition!" came a harsh voice from the stairs, making them all look up. "Our chief weapon is surprise - surprise and fear. Doh! Our _two_ weapons are fear and surprise and ruthless efficiency! Doh! Our _three_ weapons are fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency - and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope. Doh!" Moon went on, making her way down the stairs.

Pamela was already in peels of laughter, but the two boys just watched her, lost.

"Don't tell me you've never seen _The Search For The Holy Grail_?" Moon gasped at them as she walked over to the table.

"It's on my To Do list," Sam offered.

"Is it better than _Life Of Brian_?" Dean smiled.

Moon shrugged, but Pamela was still laughing as the younger girl pulled out a chair and sat slowly. Dean closed the book in his hands slowly, sniffing and letting it drop to the table with a loud thud. Moon looked at it, then at him.

"What?" she asked warily, noticing his single pointed eyebrow and pursed lips that had begun to stick out slightly. He cleared his throat quietly, wiping at his nose. _That's the worst attempt at detached contrition I've ever seen_, she realised.

"Spider monkey bats?" he prompted gruffly.

"Oh," she managed, her smile dropping as she looked at her hands in her lap. "Yeah."

"You didn't tell us that part," he observed with an obvious dose of disapproval. Pamela leaned over and put her hand on his arm to stop him.

"I know," Moon said quietly, still watching her hands. She sniffed professionally, looking back at him. "It was… Well, it's crazy, right?"

"Crazy?" Dean challenged, ignoring Pamela's tightening hold on his forearm. "You said you saw nightmare Pit stuff, Sam Helsing, all the nasties we've been killing since I was brought back - how can _these_ things be crazy?"

"I'm sorry, _Shupshe_, I couldn't," she managed.

"Couldn't what?"

"I couldn't tell you," she said forcefully.

"Why?" he pressed harshly. "Cos they're not supposed to be real? Neither are Angels of Death, Moon."

"No!" she snapped. "I couldn't tell _you_, that's all!"

Dean closed his mouth, pulling back with a puzzled frown.

Pamela sighed. "Moon, honey, you don't have to--"

"I couldn't tell you for the same reason I can't look poor Sam in the eye," she interrupted, her harsh dark brown gaze boring into Dean effortlessly. "Things have changed, _Shupshe_! Things have changed and I don't belong to you any more! I wish I - I wish I _did_."

She got up abruptly and hurried into the kitchen.

Dean turned and looked down at the book under his hand. Sam cleared his throat and pushed his chair back, about to get up. But his older brother looked at him and waved a hand at him quickly. Sam shrugged and instead Dean got up.

Pamela felt his arm disappear from under her palm and then she heard his socks across her wooden floor. The kitchen door closed and she turned round to face Sam's direction.

"Do you know what that was all about?" she asked cheerfully. "I feel like I've fallen in the deep end of a pool without any idea of which way is up."

"If it makes you feel any better," he sighed, "I'm down there too."

"Mmm," Pamela smiled wickedly. "Lucky me."

.

* * *

.

"Moon?" he asked softly, finding her standing by the sink, looking out at the view beyond the window.

"Look, _Shupshe_, just…" Her voice tailed off and she went quiet.

He looked at the door behind him and closed it quietly, leaning back on it.

"Y'know, I kinda like it when you call me '_Shupshe_'," he admitted quietly. "It's kinda… like I'm important. Like, I got a title and everything."

She closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead and letting out a long sigh. She felt her control slipping, felt her ability to drag in thoughts and feelings from around her start to fight to have a try. She swallowed and forced herself to rein it in.

She turned and found him leaning against the counter, his arms folded, his gaze on the fridge opposite him idly.

"I have a horrible feeling you're more important than you know," she said on a sigh.

"Meaning?"

"I don't know. But… The last time I saw you, and you… you brought me back to life, you owned me after that. And then Sunny died. And then I didn't have anyone. I wanted to call you - you were the first thought I had when I got the news. But I didn't know what would happen when I dialled your number. And I thought, if it tells me the line's been disconnected, I really will be without a friend in the world."

"You could have tried Sam."

"Seriously?" she scoffed, and he looked at her.

"He would have been upset about Sunny, same as he is now. But he would still have tried to look out for you, Moon."

"He shouldn't have to," she hissed. "Why should I need someone to look out for me? Because I have no family in all the world? Cos I'm younger than you? Because I'm a _girl_?" she snapped.

He just blinked at her. "Because you're all by yourself in the world. And that's no way to be." His gaze swept around the kitchen slowly. "Look… I'm sorry I was on your case about the bat things."

"Spider monkey bats."

"Yeah, them," he allowed with a smile. "But if you seen 'em, we know they're somewhere right now, doing someone harm. Can you tell us anything else about them?"

"They're a bit like spider monkeys. But they have bat wings."

"And don't tell me, they fly," Dean smiled.

"And I never told you I have a phobia," she admitted nervously.

"Of bat wings?"

"Of monkeys."

"Like… real furry primate dudes? Or those friggin' evil little bat-shit creepy toys with the hats and jackets, banging those cymbals and just grinning those evil toothy creepy--"

"Real ones," she interrupted, eyeing his shiver of distaste. "Got any phobias you'd like to share?"

"Borderline pteromerhanophobia," he replied cheerfully.

"And what the hell is that?"

"Fear of people not calling when they need help," he lied pointedly.

"I couldn't," she asserted. "And I couldn't admit to you that I… that I have a phobia."

"Why?" he asked, confused. "As if it matters."

"It's stupid."

"It's no worse than being afraid of flying," he pointed out. "Or clowns," he added thoughtfully.

"So what happens now?" she dared.

Dean looked around the kitchen slowly, shrugging. "You stay here and learn the ways of the Force from Pamela, and me and Sam'll try and figure out where these evil little monkeys are. Then we find them and kill them."

"Sounds like a plan," she grinned. She blew out a quick chuckle, looking at her feet self-consciously.

"Whut?" he asked, bemused enough to watch her.

"It's just… it's just so good to have you around again."

"It's good to be had," he allowed.

"Cos… I saw things," she whispered.

He shifted his gaze to his socks. "Like?" he managed professionally.

"I saw… what they did to you. What they made you do to others."

He swallowed but said nothing.

"They opened the last wall, didn't they?" she dared. "I told you no-one should ever do that. I told you the world would be a better place if no-one ever dared touch it."

"Yeah well… they did," he muttered, refusing to look up. "And look where that went."

She walked over slowly, stopping an arm's length from him. "It wasn't you," she allowed quietly. She watched him study his feet as if nothing else existed. "It wasn't you. It was the _Shupshe_ part of you. It just wouldn't let you allow others to hurt you any more. It resisted, and it fought back. It's what it does."

"Yeah?" he asked shakily. "Tell that to the souls I carved up."

"In the end," she said firmly, "the only thing wrong was that they didn't have one to fight back for them. _You_ did nothing wrong by having it. It was a natural defence. It's the way things should be."

He stared at his feet in silence.

She put a hand to his arm warmly. "You don't understand that now. But one day you will. One day your _Shupshe_ side will look out for you again, and you'll realise why you need it. It'll do the job you need it to do, and you'll let it. Because we all do what we have to, Dean."

She watched him but he didn't look up.

"Yeah," he managed eventually.

She squeezed his arm slightly, then let him go. She turned away and pushed the door open, disappearing silently. The door stole shut behind her and Dean turned his eyes to look at it.

"We all do what we have to," he breathed uncomfortably.

.

.


	4. Sealings, Nothing More Than Sealings

**FOUR**

**Sealings, Nothing More Than Sealings**

.

Moon sat on the porch, her boots heavy against the wood as she got comfortable. Sam closed the screen door behind him and wandered over, sitting a respectful distance away from her.

She cradled the cup of coffee in her hands, looking out across the scrub and greenery.

"So," Sam said gently, "I have a burning question for you."

"I bet you do," she mused. "Go ahead."

"You said… you said you couldn't look me in the eye. I'd like to know why."

She sighed, long and hard. She sipped at the coffee, still watching the grass sway in the late afternoon sun.

"That's not a question," she teased. His face just sagged into a sympathetic, rueful smile. She sighed. "Alright." She paused to clear her throat. "Because Sunny talked about you. A lot. Some days it drove me nuts. But… I liked it. She had you to compare everyone else to, she had you to hold onto as her one that got away. She had your number, thought about calling you so many times."

"She never did."

"No, she didn't. Cos we knew you two had lives, had stuff to do… had proper problems like trying to stop Dean from dying. You didn't need us two getting in the way."

"I see."

"No, you don't," she sighed. She sipped at her coffee again, and Sam remembered he had a cup in his hand, too. "She was totally and completely in love with you. I knew it, even if she didn't. But I felt so guilty that… that when I got the news that she was… she was gone, and I was so destroyed by it, the first thing I thought was that I needed Dean. I didn't even think of calling _you_. It was… so selfish," she whispered.

"If it's any consolation, I don't blame you," he offered gently. "In fact, I think you've done really well to keep it together after she… passed away."

"Yeah," she sighed. "That's me, the brave little soldier."

"Look," he said suddenly, more firmly, "I had to watch my brother die right in front of me, and there was nothing I could do." He paused, swallowing quickly. "And in the months that followed I thought I could handle it and go on with life. But all I did was kill things. It didn't bring him back, and it didn't make it hurt any less. I went off the rails a little--"

"Only a little?" she interrupted with a wry smile at her coffee.

"Ok, a lot. Someone I would never have trusted before slapped me into seeing what I'd become. She made me realise what I'd let happen to me. I had to pull it all back together."

"This girl - she still around?" she asked slowly.

"No. I don't need her right now," he said dismissively.

"Really?" she asked, turning her head and looking at him with a knowing eyebrow raise.

"Not like you think," he allowed. "What I'm trying to say is, I'm the last person who could hold a grudge because grief made you do something you never thought you would. See?"

She smiled slowly, shaking her head. "Yeah. I see."

"So… we're cool now, right?" he offered.

"Yeah," she smiled, leaning on his arm and letting her head lie on his taller shoulder. He put an arm round her, letting some uneasiness fall from his heavy brow. "Sam," she said quietly.

"Yes," he admitted.

"You know when we first met, and me and Sunny called you _Wakshi_?" she said slowly, as if with difficulty.

"Oh yeah," he said. "Dean's been giving me crap over being a fox ever since. He was so proud of the whole _Shupshe_ cougar thing he got."

"Yeah, well… you're not a fox any more, are you?" she said carefully.

"What do you mean?"

She straightened up off his shoulder, looking him in the eye. She appeared to study his gaze for a long few moments.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"No, not a _Wakshi_ any more," she said faintly. "_Mtugwakik mwi,_" she breathed.

"And what's that?" he smiled, hiding his unease.

"A wolf," she said thoughtfully. "A timber wolf."

"Oh. Is that good?" he joked. She let herself smile.

"Well, at a pinch, it could take a cougar," she winked.

.

* * *

.

Pamela yawned and stretched, getting up from the table slowly. Moon did likewise, but it was more from exhaustion than sitting in the same position for too long.

"That's all I'm prepared to do today," Pamela said. "We've been through a lot already. You need to rest for a bit before we get into levels of protection and unlocking nasties."

"Yeah," she said shakily, and Pamela looked over in her general direction.

"Hey," she said softly. "You're going to be ok. At least you'll be able to sleep tonight, a little more protected, right?"

"Yeah," she allowed, letting the knowledge straighten her back slowly.

"And if it's not enough, you could always just go find Cougar-Dean, curl up on his blankets again and sleep safely in his shadow," she teased.

"He told you?" Moon gasped, shocked.

"No. Sam did."

"That little--"

"He was worried. He was worried you couldn't just ask for help, that you had to find Dean. I know what's going on, Moon - you had to find one peaceful spot and stay there, till whoever it was you thought could protect you told you it was safe to come out again."

"Oh," she caved.

Pamela smiled. "Sam was worried about you, is all. He went through a similar thing, don't forget."

"But _he_ got Dean back," she pointed out.

"Yes he did," she allowed. "Lucky for you, huh?"

Moon bit her lip. "I guess."

"You guess," Pamela grinned knowingly. "Come on, let's go see how far those boys have got tracking down spider monkey bats."

.

* * *

.

Sam tapped his hands on the desk irritably, listening to the line ring and ring. He huffed through his nose, leaning back in the chair and waiting impatiently.

Eventually the call was disconnected and he raised the phone from his ear, casting it a dirty look before dropping it to the table with a clatter.

"It's not going well then?" Moon asked as she walked down the stairs.

"No, not really," he allowed. "You two done for the day?"

"That we are," Pamela said, trailing her hand down the bannister as she followed Moon. "Really takes it out of you."

"I can imagine," he muttered.

"Where's Dean?" Pamela asked as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

"He was annoying me. I sent him out to do something useful," Sam allowed.

"Like?" Moon asked, crossing to the window. She looked out and grinned, going to the front door and looking back at them. "I'll be back."

"Yeah right," Sam grumped as she opened the door and flew outside.

Pamela walked to the table, putting her hands out to make sure she was where she thought she was before sitting slowly.

"How you doing?" she asked quietly.

"No-one seems to have any info on these loveable critters, and everyone I talk to about them is scratching us off their Christmas card list," he said with false cheer.

"That's not what I meant," she said. She laid her hands on the table, thinking. "You're upset about Sunny, I know that. And now you're relieved by something Moon's said."

"Then I guess I don't really have to tell you anything else, do I?" Sam smiled pleasantly.

"Oh Sam," Pamela sighed. "I know she frightened you about the whole eyes thing. But now you're relieved, right?"

"Oh yeah, totally," he said brightly. "Now all I have to worry about is not going completely Dark Side and making sure I never use my demon blood to do good works ever again, so I don't suffer 'death by smiting' at the hands of some unctuous dick called Uriel," he snapped with enough sarcasm to fill the coffee jug.

"Put it this way," she said, quietly amused, "how annoying is it going to be for Uriel to be reined in, unable to smite who he chooses, cos you're being a 'good little boy' in their eyes? I don't know about you, but it makes me chuckle to think a huge steaming pile of sanctimonious shit like that has even tougher rules than we do."

Sam couldn't help a smile tug at his lips. "You have a point," he allowed. He got up and went to the window, looking out. He saw Dean and Moon, apparently enjoying a dying afternoon washing the Impala, and smiled slightly.

Then his face fell as he thought about the sister who wasn't there. He let it bounce around his mind, knowing he suddenly missed her fiercely, but couldn't place why.

_Is it cos he's got his little friend back, and I've got no-one? Am I just feeling left out? What am I, five?_

"Sam?" Pamela called from behind him. He turned away from the window quickly, trying to wipe the guilty look from his face. Then he remembered she wouldn't see it anyway.

"Yeah," he said, deliberately cheerfully.

"Could you give me a hand making coffee? I've got the kettle done but someone's moved my mugs from their proper home."

He nodded. " 'Course. It was probably Dean. You know he can't put stuff back where he found it."

"Oh yeah," she teased. "Makes it hard for me when people shuffle my world around though, you know?"

"I'll punish him later," he smiled, walking to the kitchen and taking her arm lightly.

"Oooh - can I watch?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sam just shook his head, smiling. Then it faded. "He's gonna be pissed when he finds out I've found absolutely nothing about our wanted creatures," he sighed, going to the kettle and finding it had boiled.

She stood next to him, spreading a hand out and finding the jar of instant coffee powder. She unscrewed the lid slowly, thinking. She put it on the counter, sliding her hand up it and finding the drainer where it should be. She slid her hand over the side to find the spoon in it, while Sam lifted two mugs from the side of the drainer.

"Well if he wants it done faster, he could always get his ass in here and help instead of - what's he doing?"

"Washing his car," Sam smiled.

"Boys," she tutted with a grin, shaking her head slightly. "Mug?"

He put one under her hand, guiding her fingers round to drop the powder in.

"How long have you two known this girl?"

"Why?" he asked, moving the other mug over as Pamela reloaded her spoon with coffee.

"It's just… In her mind she's dependent on Dean being there. Like… like the world would end if he wasn't. Pardon the analogy," she grinned.

"And?"

"It's odd - just really … _odd_. I've never seen someone with such a connection to a person who's clearly _not_ psychic."

"You sure about that? The way he always knows where the coffee or pie is borders on the clairvoyant," Sam smiled. He guided her hand to tip the powder in the mug as she grinned.

"Yeah. Anyway, take these out to them, we have to decide what pizza we order for dinner."

"Yes ma'am."

.

* * *

.

Sam carried the two steaming mugs of coffee outside, walking up to the Impala. Moon was crouched by the front lights, rubbing the last of the polish off the bonnet over them. Dean was nowhere to be seen.

"Don't need reason, don't need rhyme, ain't nothing that I'd rather do," came his matter-of-fact voice from somewhere beyond the other side of the car.

"Hold on! I know that one!" Moon gasped, biting her lip. She looked round as Sam stopped next to her, smiling. He mouthed '_AC/DC_' at her and she winked up at him. " AC/DC," she called over the car. "Ah - ah - ah - I got it! _Highway To Hell_!"

Dean straightened up from the other side.

"How'd you get it so--. Sammy. Cheating, are we?" he said politely, catching sight of his brother. Sam simply smiled.

"I bring you coffee and you accuse me of cheating? Thanks," he said, pretending to be hurt. Dean came round the side of the car, the front of his t-shirt still wet and clinging to him, the soap suds long since gone. His hands, forearms and temples were blessed with the occasional swipe of dark grey smudges of polish.

Moon took the cup from Sam, inclining her head graciously. Sam held the other one out to his brother, who took it with a thoughtful frown.

"I didn't spit in it," Sam smiled maliciously. Dean looked at him before taking a sip. "You done?" Sam added, nodding to the car. They all turned and looked.

The Impala gleamed in the fading sunlight, perfect shimmers of warm, reflected beams bouncing off her paintwork with gay abandon. The wheels shone in all their sparkling alloy glory, the chrome edges of her lights catching the sun's rays and showing off the perfectly smooth sheen to her bonnet and wings.

Sam had to admit, she did look amazing for a restored classic. Moon folded her arms, nodding contentedly. Dean just stared, a far away, wistful expression of longing and need on his face.

Moon looked at him, then at Sam. She wiggled her head and Sam looked at her. She gestured to Dean slightly with her head, and Sam noticed the look on Dean's face and grinned childishly. He stepped back out of view, then put his hand over his heart and looked up at the sky, sighing piteously. Moon chuckled, making Dean jump and look at her.

The Head of the Facial Expressions Department picked up the phone quickly and got through to Adjustments using the emergency line. A hurried few seconds of gabbled instructions produced a lightning-fast change in Dean's expression from Embarrassed to Professional Detachment. The Head put the phone back down and nodded to himself, pleased he had helped Dean avoid being caught out.

"Whut?" Dean asked, nevertheless defensively.

"Nothing," she said lightly. Sam cleared his throat and Dean turned round to look at him suspiciously. Sam just looked back at him, eyes wide and eyebrows hiked up as far as they would go, a wide, straight smile stretched right across his face that simply oozed innocence.

"Right," Dean tutted knowingly. "Come on, it's gettin' to food o'clock."

Moon slapped Sam on the arm and then turned to help Dean collect the buckets, sponges, chamois leathers and hoses. Sam snorted in amusement, turning for the house again.

"I've been travelling but I don't know where, I've been missing you but you just don't care," he heard Moon say suddenly.

"Aw c'mon, how easy is it that? Rollin' Stones - _Laugh, I Nearly Died_," Dean scoffed.

"Bastard," Moon accused.

Sam shook his head and went back to the house.

.

* * *

.

Pamela spread her hand against the flat of the door, finding the knob and resting her hand on it. She lifted her other to knock soundly.

"Dean! Come on, get your pretty ass out of that bed! Everyone else is finishing breakfast!" she called.

There was no reply and she sighed. She opened the door and walked in, closing it behind her and putting her hand to the wall to her left. She slid along it, walking confidently toward the far wall. Something snagged her foot and she stopped quickly, catching herself before she fell. She bent down and felt at it, confirming it to be Dean's duffle that he had no doubt chucked on the floor as so many sighted people did, knowing they could notice and therefore step over it.

She pushed it to one side and carried on until she found the corner of the room. She put her right hand out to find the curtains, pausing to listen.

She heard birds in front and a very light snoring sound behind her. She grinned wickedly and traced over the curtains deftly, finding the meeting edges. She wrenched them open and felt strong sun on her face. She stood for a long moment, enjoying the warmth that told her it was a bright, sunny day outside. She turned her back to the windows, putting her hands out and counting the steps to the bed.

She stopped at six and bent down, her hands finding the side of the bed easily. She sat on the edge.

"Come on Dean, wake up," she chided.

There was a half-hearted answering grunt. She guessed herself to be alongside his arm and decided to risk a shoulder or, worst case scenario, leg-shake.

She put her hand out and encountered the blankets. She pressed her hand into the depths of his warm comfort. She stopped as she felt some bone or other under the pressure of her hand. She nodded, confident, and pushed and jiggled at it repeatedly to get some response from the sleepy Winchester.

The response she got was instantaneous.

"Woah!" Dean cried in complete shock. She heard blankets rustling and whatever she had been pushing at moved away from her hand quickly.

"Five-year-old. It was just a hip," she sighed, shaking her head.

"That weren't my hip!" he protested, sounding like he had hit the very highest level on the Freaked-Out-O-Meter.

The penny dropped and she laughed out loud with decidedly wicked intent. She leaned her hands on the bed to make sure of her bearings and heard him scooting away across it. There was a muffled _flump_ and a breathy curse and she realised he had fallen off the other side.

She laughed again. "I'm sorry, Dean. You know I couldn't have planned that if I'd tried, right?"

"I guess," came his grudging voice, obscured by the bed. She pushed herself up and felt around the edge of it slowly, being careful to get round it without tripping.

"You ok?"

"I think your cabinet pretty much People's Elbow'd ma head. Gimme a minute," he grumped, and she heard rustling.

"Let me help," she said, biting her lip to stop herself from laughing. She made it round the bed until something became fouled up in her jeans.

"I can get--" he began.

She stumbled and fell, her hands and elbows out to try and stop herself from banging her face flat into the floorboards.

But she landed across something warm and malleable, to the accompaniment of a sudden wheeze and cough.

"Crap! Sorry!" she managed, turning slightly to try and lighten the load. She paused and took stock, realising she had her elbow in what was probably his gut: the most plausible reason for him sounding winded underneath her.

She put her hand out and encountered his t-shirt, sliding it to the right to find his shoulder. Now with a decent idea of position, she was confident in spreading her hands to the floor beside him. She felt his hands go to her sides, ready to heave her upwards, clear of him.

"Gotta start locking ma door at night," he wheezed.

She grinned. "What, and miss all this fun?"

She heard the door sweep open and didn't need eyes to know it was Sam. The Vesuvius-like huff echoed round the room as she waited for the inevitable.

"Holy crap, Dean, can't you keep your pants on for one night?"

"It's not what you think!" Pamela and Dean protested together.

"Yeah right," Sam grumped. "Hurry up - we've got news and you need to drive."

"Who stole the toy out of _your_ Happy Meal?" Dean groused, apparently more aerated than previously. Pamela shifted and pushed herself to her knees, and after a moment or two she felt Dean's hands on her upper arms, pulling her to her feet.

"Thanks," she admitted shakily.

"No problem - just don't do it again," Dean replied, but she heard the smile in his voice.

He slid a hand down her arm to her hand, reaching it out for her to touch her fingers to the bed. She nodded her thanks and used it to orientate herself, sitting on the edge and clearing her throat. She turned in the direction of Dean's voice, now a little further away.

"Where are we going?" he was asking.

"Back to Paradox, Colorado," Sam replied, much less hotly. "We just found a police report about one death and one eye-witness."

"Let me guess, spider monkey bats?"

"Spider monkey bats," Sam confirmed.

.

.


	5. If You Seal It, They Will Come

**FIVE**

**If You Seal It, They Will Come**

.

.

Pamela pushed her bag at Sam, making sure he had a hold of it. "Make sure it's secure, I don't want it rattling around that trunk," she said.

"Pamela, you don't have to come with us," he said for the fifth time.

"_Pssht_, don't be stupid," she scoffed. "What happens to poor Moon if I don't?"

"I thought she was ok now?"

"Yeah right!" Pamela laughed. "Like you were ok after Dean went down."

"That's not--. Look--"

"No, _you_ look," Pamela interrupted, stopping in the front room of her house, her hands on her hips. "Moon needs more than just a pat on the shoulder. She's dealing with shit you can't even begin to get a handle on, Dark Psychic Boy, so let me help her while you go check out some spider monkey bat nonsense."

"O-k," he mumbled.

"Thank you," she sighed. She heard a noise to her right: heavy boots on her floor. "And Dean?" she added.

"Whut'd I do?" came his innocent voice innocently.

"You stick close to Moon, don't leave her alone near these monkey bat things. Got it?"

"Uh - yeah - ok," he managed, sounding confused. "Are we ready to go?"

"I guess we are," Pamela nodded. She turned in the direction of the elder Winchester's voice, walking toward it. "Show me to the car."

She felt a hand on her arm and walked with Dean out of the house. She left Sam to lock up for her, walking down her path. She counted the steps, knowing there the end was. She stopped deliberately and the grip on her forearm paused, waiting.

"Whut?" Dean asked.

"Just… Tell me Dean, is it a sunny day?" she asked quietly.

"Ah… Yeah, I guess."

"You guess? Don't you ever stop and look at the sun?" she asked, surprised.

"Well… Not really. I seem to spend all my time driving or plotting, these days."

"Point taken," she sighed. "But do me a favour?"

"Whut?"

"Sometimes, just for no reason at all, look up at the sun. Remember what it looks like, how you have to squint at it, how it makes your eyes feel to see it."

There was a long silence.

"Pamela… I'm sorry. I'm real sorry for--"

"Dean," she sighed. "It wasn't your fault. It _wasn't_ your fault. Just… Just look at the sun, will you?"

"And… what, you get vicarious thrills from me taking in the brightness?"

"Something like that," she smiled. "Car," she commanded.

"Yes ma'am," Dean agreed awkwardly, walking on and guiding her to the Impala.

.

* * *

.

The constant purr of her engine had already put three of the car's occupants to sleep. Her driver was settled comfortably, one hand on the wheel, one elbow on the window block, the attached hand propping his chin up to watch the road. His lips moved, the slight whispy tune and lyrics only slightly discernible to himself over the steady engine machinations and the occasional squeaky rattle from somewhere deep within the chassis.

Moon, squashed into the corner of the window and the passenger seat, twitched abruptly in her sleep. She jerked again and mumbled something. Dean spared her a glance but then looked back at the road, pouting to himself in discomfort. He heard her shift again and caught another sudden jerk from the corner of his eye.

He put his hand out, pushing at her shoulder with a sudden snap. She jumped and opened an eye, grumbling to herself. She pushed herself up and stretched out, taking a deep breath and rubbing her eyes.

"Bad times?" Dean offered quietly, stealing a glance at her.

She swept her hands over her face. "Actually? Today? Not so bad," she allowed, then yawned. "We nearly there?"

"Twenty miles," he confirmed quietly.

She looked over at him, then turned sideways in the seat slowly to get comfortable. She looked him over with no apparent haste.

"Whut?" he asked, unsure. He looked at her for the barest of moments before he looked back at the road. "I forget to put my pants on this morning? Whut?"

She smiled. "No, just… You feel… comfortable."

"You're freaking me out."

"No!" she giggled, leaning her elbow on the top of the seat back, putting a hand under her chin. "Right now, this is the most comfortable you could ever hope to be in your adult life. Isn't it?"

Dean blinked, his lips sticking out in thoughtful protrusions as he mulled it over. "I guess," he offered.

"Yeah. I can feel it. It comes off you like… steam in a shower."

"Yeah, again with the freaking me out," he put in, making her smile.

"Forget it," she grinned, looking out the front window. "So. Twenty miles?"

"Twenty miles," he confirmed.

.

* * *

.

Sam was aware of some familiar, pleasant noise and a warm weight on him. He opened his eyes, finding Pamela snoozing against his shoulder. He remembered he was in the back seat of the Impala and blinked tired eyes, rubbing them. He let his hand drop as he registered that the sounds he could hear were not the radio as he had previously thought.

"_Leaves are falling all around, it's time I was on my way_," Dean was singing in his customary husky voice, designed not to wake too many people.

"_Thanks to you, I'm much obliged - such a pleasant stay_," Moon carried on, her voice an octave higher, much thinner than his but very pleasant in a crystal-clear way. "_But now it's time for me to go, the autumn moon lights my way._"

"_For now I smell the rain, and with it pain! And it's headed my way!_" Dean sang, "_Aw, sometimes I grow so tired, but I know I got one thing I got to do_--" He waved his hand out in a circle at Moon, his eyes on the road.

"_Ramble on!_" they sang together, "_And now's the time, the time is now, to sing my song! I'm goin' round the world, I got to find my girl. On my way, I've been this way ten years to the day! Ramble on, gotta find the queen of all my dreams!_"

Sam smiled, watching Moon drum her hands on her knees, her legs obviously curled up beside her to keep her gaze on Dean. They continued to sing and she continued to drum.

"_Got no time for spreadin' roots, the time has come to be gone. And though our health we drank a thousand times, it's time to ramble on_," they sang together, and although their voices really shouldn't have blended so well as they sang some approximation of a guitar melody between them, they did. Dean drummed his palms on the steering wheel in delight as they took up the lyrics again between them: "_Ramble on! And now's the time, the time is now, to sing my song! I'm goin' round the world, I got to find my girl. On my way! I've been this way ten years to the day! I gotta ramble on, gotta find the queen of all my dreams!_"

Moon slapped at her knees and then the vinyl of the seat in time, and their voices gained momentum while they _la-la-la_'d a short musical bridge. One of Dean's hands came right off the wheel as he air-drummed to the beat, Moon grinning and singing to her own jeans-drumming.

"_Mine's a tale that can't be told! My freedom I hold dear!" they sang, louder and louder. "How years ago in days of old, when magic filled the air_--"

"Hey! If I wanted front row seats to a Zep concert I'd get off my ass and buy the CD!" Pamela cried suddenly.

Moon's mouth hesitated and she stopped drumming instantly. Dean's mouth opened but he paused, flicking his gaze to the rear view mirror. He re-grouped, casting a sly glance at Moon before he looked back at the road.

"Well excuse _me_. My tapes are in the trunk, you can't expect me to drive into the next state without something to keep me awake," he said, but there was no anger in it.

"You're just upset cos you weren't joining in," Moon teased. "Come on, Pamela, give us a song."

"I'll give you a slap," she offered cheerfully, making the other three occupants smile.

"Sam?" Moon prompted, but turned as she heard Dean tut. "What?"

"Are you _nuts_? I asked him to sing once," Dean glowered.

"And?" she grinned, watching Sam roll his eyes.

"And the last time I heard something make a noise like that, I was killin' in," Dean protested.

Moon burst into laughter but Pamela patted Sam's knee soothingly.

"I'm sure he has other talents," she grinned.

Moon turned herself round to look out the front window, a private smile on her face. Sam sniffed and shifted, and Pamela roused herself sufficiently to lean off him and pull her hair out of her face slowly.

"So are we there yet?" she sighed.

"Just rolled past the sign about a song ago," Dean confirmed. "Keep your eyes peeled for the police station we need to visit."

"How do you want to do this?" Sam asked, his mind already jumping ahead.

"We should… We should probably Agent-up and go in as FBI, get them to turn the case notes over to us," Dean said thoughtfully.

"Me and Pamela need to eat," Moon announced. "Are you dropping up somewhere?"

"Motel first, get the girls some food, we can stow some stuff, get changed?" Sam offered.

"Sounds like a plan," Dean nodded, slowing the car as they turned onto what appeared to be a main street. "Moon, you were here before. Know any good places?"

"Let's not go where I was staying before," she said flatly. "No fridge, no hairdryer, no air-con."

"Right," Dean snorted, amused. "How about… there?" He nodded past her with his chin and she turned to look.

"Try it," she shrugged.

He swept the car into the car park leisurely, and it was barely ten minutes later that they were lugging duffles down the upstairs corridor, finding their two chosen rooms across the hall from each other.

Dean looked down at the keycards in his free hand, passing one to Moon. "Here you go. We got cable, Magic Fingers - even a fridge and a hairdryer. Knock yourselves out," he said, motioning her to guide Pamela with her.

"Are you joking?" Moon spluttered. "I'm not taking a room that you and your guns aren't in!"

Sam held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright - we'll go boy-girl, boy-girl," he said quickly. "Me and Pamela will take this room, you two take that one."

"I like," Pamela smiled immediately.

Moon looked at Dean. "If you don't mind," she said quietly. "I'd feel a lot safer."

"Sure," Dean allowed. "Least I won't have to listen to Sam snoring."

"I do not snore," Sam sighed, plucking the keycard from Moon's hand as he turned to the door.

"He ain't going to get the chance," Pamela grinned wickedly.

"Pamela--" Sam began.

"I know, I know - just joking, Sam," she sighed resignedly.

It was a shame she couldn't see Dean's wicked, malicious smile at his brother's expense. But she did hear a closed fist - which she rightly presumed to be Moon's - go into Dean's arm in protest.

.

* * *

.

Sam and Dean walked across the grass, matching black suits singling them out from the people milling around the front of the police station.

"You think they'll be alright?" Sam asked edgily.

"Moon and Pamela? Sure," Dean shrugged. "They got Jedi training to do. And anyway, they got HBO and the WB channel and the TV in my room's a little bigger than yours. I'm sure they'll be having more fun than we will."

"No, I mean… Moon said she had nightmares about these creatures. And now we've come back to the place that was giving her the nightmares, and we've left her alone without weapons while we go look for the remains of their first kill - cos they're _here_."

Dean stopped and put a hand in Sam's front, forcing him to stop too.

"You think they're after her?"

"I don't know, man. All I'm saying is, I'd be worried about leaving _you_ here, never mind Moon."

"Sammy," Dean sighed. "I get it, alright? This is about feeling guilty cos you never called Sunny back, and now she's--. Now she's gone. So now you want to make sure her sister's safe, right?" He watched his taller brother look away guiltily, his green-brown eyes ranging round the station not too far away. "Right?" Dean pressed.

"Kinda," Sam allowed and Dean let his head tilt.

"Look, we're here to find out what's going on. Once we have an idea of who and why, we'll know more about how to protect the girls, ok? I'm all for sending Pamela home, except Moon don't want her to go just yet. And if Pamela's happy to babysit and teach her stuff she needs, then that's fine by me," he stated firmly.

Sam looked at him for a long moment. "Dean…" He gave up, looking away.

"Whut?"

"Well…" He sighed, then put his hand in his pockets, looking at his feet.

"_Whut_, Sammy?"

"Look, Pamela said that Moon has dreamed about everything we've done since you came back from Hell, and it was somehow in your perspective." He eyed his brother's confused look, judging it to be genuine. "And now she's seeing these flying creatures. What if she's seeing them because…"

"Because what?" Dean demanded, eager in a decidedly worried way.

"Because they're somehow to do with you getting out of Hell?"

Dean's mouth was open but nothing came out. He took a step back from his brother slowly, his eyes glued to his higher ones as he tried to come up with a response.

"You think these things are after _me_?" he managed.

"No. I don't know. It's just a possibility," Sam said firmly. "I'm just… It's just a thought I had."

"Got any others?" Dean asked weakly. "Like, y'know, you forgot to tell me Moon has this dream about me on a beach in Hawaii?"

Sam gave a small smile. "I can put in a request, if you like."

"Great," Dean tutted, then blew out a sigh. "Can we go find out how much of this we can substantiate from the murder scene now please?"

"Yeah. After all, whoever they killed? It wasn't you. And there's an eye-witness - they must have some idea of what the bat things were tying to accomplish before they left, for whatever reason."

"Super," Dean agreed. He turned and marched on to the doors of the station, slapping a hand into one and wanging it open without even checking to see if Sam were keeping up.

They walked into the reception area, busy and noisy. A group of people were hanging around the desk, cameras and assorted passes hanging from necks, arms and belts. The two Winchesters exchanged a weary glance before Dean cleared his throat and walked over.

"Alright, c'mon, move!" he called, pushing at people's shoulders to try and make his way to the desk.

The crowd was several people deep and he barely spotted a blond head behind the reception desk before the jumble of reporters closed in again. He let himself pout in angry disapproval before he took a deep breath.

"_Silence!_" he bellowed, his voice thick with powerful volume.

The group, and pretty much everyone else in the station, froze. Heads turned toward him and he straightened his shoulders, taking his FBI badge from his inside pocket and opening it up.

"_All of you, move!_" he shouted. Faces blinked at him, mouths hesitated. Then one man to the right put a foot sideways and slid out of Dean's path. Then the next man. Then the next. Finally he found himself looking at the desk.

A petite lady of around forty was watching him with a small smile. He sniffed and approached the desk slowly, feeling the eyes of everyone around on him. He stopped at the counter and blew out an angry breath before clearing his throat and pulling his jacket straight.

The desk sergeant smiled suddenly. "What can I do for you, Agent?" she beamed.

"Are these people bothering you?" he replied, putting an elbow on the counter and letting a small smirk steal over his face.

"Not any more," she allowed. "What do you need?"

Dean let his smirk become a full-blown gesture of wicked amusement. He put his hand in his jacket without breaking eye contact, pulling out his badge again and laying it open on the counter.

"I'm Agent Scholz, this is Agent Delp," he said. He chucked a thumb over his shoulder at Sam, who nodded respectfully. "We'd like to take a look at the case notes so far for the… ah… weird murder you had here last night."

Her smile faded. "You're here about the bat things?"

"We're here about the bat things," he confirmed more seriously. "May we?"

She looked around at the men craning to hear their conversation. She looked back at Dean. "I think I had better let you through to discuss this in private," she said loudly. Dean nodded and she turned away to the side counter, opening it up. "Please, this way."

Dean and Sam turned to follow but were impeded by a sudden rush of men and cameras. Something like a small dictaphone was shoved into Dean's face and someone babbled at him.

"Sir! Is it true you're here about the monster bats?"

Dean's face took on the allure and caring sharing fluffy nature of weathered granite and his hand went up. He grasped the bones of the man's wrist and squeezed until the reporter yelped and tried to drag it back.

"Move," Dean advised.

People parted and he let go of the offending limb. The man melted into the crowd and the two boys found themselves free to follow the desk sergeant.

.

* * *

.

"Here," said the Captain, handing over a rather flimsy manila folder. "That's all we got."

Sam put his hand out and took the file, opening it up. Dean looked at the older man, with his cropped dark hair and very dark eyes. He had large dark circles under them too, putting Dean in mind of horror movie make-up for the black and white market. He certainly was lean, too, and it was a safe bet you could fit two of him inside one of Dean's suit jackets.

"Just after ten?" Sam murmured, reading the file. Dean turned to look at him. "It says the sole survivor, the eye-witness, was Mrs Asha Wright," he added. "When can we see her?"

The Captain sat behind his desk slowly. "She's at home right now, being watched by a couple of my men. Didn't want to leave her by herself, if you get me," he added. "Her husband was just hacked up, didn't think she'd be in the best of moods to be alone."

"Good thinking," Sam muttered. He closed the file with a snap, looking at his brother. "I think we need to pay her a visit. She might have more details."

"Hey, we interviewed her gentle, like," the Captain put in. "It's all there, what we got."

"And you've done a bang-up job," Sam nodded pleasantly. "But we have experience in these gruesome things, and it's possible she may be able to tell us something that she wouldn't necessarily come out with to someone who didn't know how to ask."

"Besides," Dean added neatly, "the more watchers, the merrier, right?"

"Yeah," the Captain allowed. "What gets me is… well, it's all so weird. I mean… she says she saw bats - giant bats. This is Colorado."

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "I saw an orange in Florida once."

Sam just turned and looked at him, his face set in a '_you are dumber than a hamster_' expression that the police Captain dared to share.

"It was blue," Dean shrugged by way of explanation. "Anyway," he added, clapping his hands together. "Let's get going."

They thanked the Captain and were out of the station and back at the Impala before Dean's phone started to ring. He checked the display before snapping it open.

"Yeah'ello," he sniffed.

"Dean. We're getting food. How are you two fixed?" Moon asked.

"We're about to visit the witness. You two go ahead, party like it's 1999. We'll be back when we're done."

"Cool. _Smallville_'s on WB in an hour," Moon giggled. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. Is Pamela with you?"

"She's in control of the remote. She says we have to watch _Reaper_ afterwards. I think she has a thing for the Devil."

"Just stay together. We'll be back soon."

"Ok. Be careful," she said quietly.

"And you." Dean closed the phone and looked up, finding Sam watching him with eyebrows that were scrambling up under his fringe.

"She's declaring her undying love for you now?" he guessed.

"She's telling us not to die just yet," Dean countered. "Honestly, Sammy, you and your gutter mind."

"Wha--," Sam began in bemused protest, then just huffed it all out. "Let's go then."

.

* * *

.

They showed their badges to the car across the street, the two officers inside nodding with forewarned knowledge of the expected agents. Crossing the road, Sam noticed the house looked tidy, well kept - apart from the smashed windows covered in plastic, '_do not cross_' written down the yellow tape securing it all from the weather.

Dean rang the doorbell and they waited patiently. Eventually the door opened and they found themselves looking at an older woman with long, red hair. She blinked at them, and it was clear her puffy eyes and bleary demeanour had nothing to do with the afternoon air and everything to do with grief.

"Hi, Mrs Wright?" Sam said gently. "I'm sorry to disturb you right now. We're with the FBI, we've come to talk to you about what happened."

"Right, right," she said vaguely, nodding in a way that suggested she had barely an inkling of the surrounding environment. The Winchesters exchanged a puzzled look. "Well," she sighed, "you'd better come in then."

She stepped back and the two boys brushed past her into the hallway. Sam hovered as she closed the door and turned to look at him.

"FBI, you say?" she asked with a definite lack of lucidity.

"Yes. Look, we won't be long, we just need to ask you a few small details," he said gently.

"Ok," she shrugged, walking past them and toward the door to her front room. Sam and Dean trailed after her.

They found themselves in an airy room that looked very large due to the fact that the furniture had all been pushed to one end.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I haven't put a thing straight yet. The police were here and… It's all… Oh, what a mess," she managed, clearly on the brink of tears.

"Aw hey, that's what public servants are for," Dean smiled warmly, waving a hand at the sofa. "Where do you want it?"

"You're very kind," she said quietly. "Up against the window, please."

Sam turned to her as Dean grasped the edge of the sofa and began to push it round and across the room.

"So, ah, Mrs Wright. You told the police there were… bats."

"Yes," she whispered. She went to the sofa as Dean stood back proudly. She didn't so much sit as fall in the hope that there were something nearby to cushion the fall. "I drew them for the Captain, he put it in his big file." She sighed.

"I know all this must be very weird," Sam said soothingly.

"The bats? They weren't the weirdest thing."

"How's that?" Dean asked.

She looked over at the far chairs and matching side table and Dean turned, following her line of sight. He walked to the table and lifted it in both hands, moving it over. As he set it down he noticed the small, opened bottle of Valium and cleared his throat, looking over at the armchairs. He went to the furthest one and took hold of the arm, turning it round and pushing it toward her.

"Ben. He said some strange things. And then…"

"Your husband?" Sam asked carefully. "What did he say?"

"He said… Well, he had a fishing trip with some friends to go to, this weekend. I know it was only Tuesday but I asked if he needed anything from the store. He said… He said to get orange juice."

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. "And how is that weird?" Dean asked slowly.

"He doesn't drink fruit juice, never has. And his friends would want beer, that's the real reason they go in the first place."

"Right," Dean nodded. "Tell me, Mrs Wright, did your husband do or say anything else that you thought was odd?"

"Before he went out last night, he said… It was the last moment I saw him alive. I didn't know these bats were about to - about to--"

She put her face in her hands and Sam sat next to her, putting a soothing hand on her back.

"It's ok, Mrs Wright," he said gently. "Take your time."

"He said," she breathed through her open fingers on her face, "he said I shouldn't worry about waiting up for him, that he had work to do." She sniffed, shaking her head slightly. "I asked him what work, seeing as it was after nine at night, and his office shuts at six." She swallowed, taking her hands from her face and looking at Sam with a clear plea in her eyes. "And then…"

"Whut?" Dean asked edgily, watching her put her hands out and take hold of Sam's suit jacket lapels firmly. She simply squeezed, as if the material in his suit could absorb all of her pain and anguish.

"And then he looked at me. And his eyes were black," she whispered. "All black. Just… black."

_Demon_, thought Dean, his knowing gaze going to Sam.

He looked over and met his older brother's eyes. _Demon_, he nodded silently.

.

.


	6. Sealing Is Believing

**SIX**

**Sealing Is Believing**

.

.

Sam closed the front door behind them and followed his brother down the path to the main road.

"So we got demons and spider whatevers," Dean grumped.

"Spider monkey bats," Sam muttered thoughtfully. "You think we've stumbled into some kind of turf war?"

Dean's eyebrows shook hands in an incredibly sporting gesture and turned to the pole vault area in front of them. They looked at their regulation-length Olympic poles, grabbing them up tightly. They nodded to each other and turned to survey the far reaches of Dean's forehead. A brief moment of resolve-building later and they took off running toward their targets. The bases of their poles struck home solidly. They were flung through the air by the snap and found themselves landing gracefully close to the hairline of his fringe. Just short of their goal they may have been, but they grinned and high-fived each other in triumph as they realised they had never before made it so far up his forehead.

Sam looked at his brother, taking in his look of disbelief and his über-high brows, and paused.

"It kinda makes sense," he shrugged.

"Well that's just great," Dean tutted. "So what, now we gotta find and exorcise some demon to stop it from going around in innocent meat-suits terrorising monkey bats, before finding the freaky bats and torching them too?"

"Looks like," Sam sighed.

"Great. Just peachy," Dean grumbled. "Hey, I got an idea - let's just sit back with some popcorn until we have a winner, then torch whoever it is," he added sarcastically.

"Dean," Sam tutted.

Dean shook his head dismissively, walking round the car and unlocking her. He squeaked the door open and sniffed to himself as he got in.

"Well I know one thing," he informed his younger brother as he slid into the passenger side, "I ain't waiting around for this demon. We find a way to track these monkeys bats. Wherever they are, this demon won't be far behind."

"Sounds like a good place to start," Sam nodded.

Dean started up the Impala, listening to her purr for a second before checking the traffic and pulling away from the kerb.

"One question," Sam ventured.

"Whut?"

"How do we find the bats?"

"That's where Moon comes in," Dean allowed.

Sam looked at him and realised he had never seen so much discomfort showing on his elder brother's face as right at that moment.

.

* * *

.

Dean opened the motel room door and looked in, Sam craning his neck to look in too.

"Moon?" Dean called. He walked in, finding the place empty. He walked to the nearest bed, looking down at a small piece of paper left on the pillow. He looked at the far bed, finding it rumpled but empty. He sat on his adopted bed, picking up the note.

"_Shupshe_," he read, deliberately clearly. "_Pamela and I have gone to get a drink. We may be some time. I'll try not to wake you when I get back from helping Pamela to her bed. Your loveable burden, Moon_."

Sam sighed. "Well… You reckon this demon's still around - should we be looking for him tonight? Or should we give her the night off before we start interrogating her?"

Dean kept his eyes on the note. "I think we can let her have one night of fun. And I think we kinda owe Pamela some down-time, too."

"Yeah," Sam allowed. "It's getting late," he added, looking at his watch. "You want to eat?"

"I'm starving," Dean admitted, leaning over and placing the note on the table between the beds. "Where's the nearest place we can eat?"

.

* * *

.

Sam woke feeling something warm in his lower back. He stretched out on his side, sighing with comfort, the warm blankets too much to push aside so quickly.

Then he had an awful thought. He put a hand down cautiously and encountered the warmth behind him. He was relieved to find it was a pillow.

He breathed out a sigh of relief and pulled it up as he turned onto his back. He dropped it to his chest, folding his arms over it and looking at the ceiling.

"Sam? You awake?" came a quiet voice. He looked to his left to see Pamela huddled under many blankets as if cold.

"Yeah. You girls have a good time on the town last night?" he smiled.

"Yeah, we did. That poor girl needed some proper relaxation," she mumbled.

"You ok?" Sam asked, his smile falling as he detected the slight discomfort in her voice.

"Mostly," she grumped.

He studied her face, thinking - not for the first time - how regal and commanding she looked, even with her white plastic eyes that saw nothing. And her attractive bed-hair.

"Ah-hah," he sighed knowingly. "Want to talk about it?"

"I want coffee," she managed, and Sam recognised the tell-tale attempt to bury disturbing dreams.

"Well what do you know? Me too," he allowed. He pushed himself out of bed and went to the table and coffee machine.

"Wish I could see you swishing to the table," she sighed, rolling onto her back.

Sam smiled. "Looks are over-rated."

"Yeah right." She yawned. "You could be naked over there and I'd never know."

Sam snorted in amusement.

"Are you naked over there?" she asked quickly.

Sam laughed out loud. "Don't you wish."

.

* * *

.

Dean woke feeling something warm in his lower back. He stretched out on his side, sighing with comfort, the warm blankets too much to push aside so quickly.

Then he had an awful thought. He put a hand down cautiously and encountered the warmth behind him. He was relieved to find it was a pillow. But he opened his eyes and looked round at it quickly, making sure it was in fact the soft cotton he was expecting.

It was. He blew out a breath and fell onto his back, hiking his elbows under him. He lifted a hand to scrub it through his hair, sniffing and squinting at the light trickling into the room. He looked over at the other bed.

Moon was asleep, curled into a small ball, her face toward him. A loose plait was taking care of most of her hair, her face appearing white in the early morning light. Dean frowned for a second.

_Can't be easy, seeing what she sees._

He rubbed an eye, sniffing and looking around the room. There was something very still, very quiet about it all, and he found it suddenly very reassuring. He heard a murmur and looked over.

Moon shifted and grumbled to herself. Her face appeared more fearful, more pallid. She twitched suddenly, a mumble escaping her mouth. She shifted and her hand slid up, grasping her pillow. Dean sat up warily as her knuckles turned white with the pressure of gripping it. She shifted again and twitched.

Dean got up with an abruptness that surprised him. He went over and put his hand out, shaking her shoulder urgently.

"Moon," he said calmly. "Moon - it's a dream."

She began to fret. He pushed harder and she gasped her eyes open, looking around. Her search found his face looking down at her and she swallowed.

"_Shupshe_," she whispered.

The fear in the eyes, the timidity of the set to her face pinched at Dean's memories. He saw a time, a place, a pair of young boys waiting for their father to return. Himself and a younger boy, the little lad in his care waking from a nasty dream. Suddenly the young girl in front of him and her expression of fear, of wanting everything to be alright, matched little Sam's too accurately and he let go of her shoulder, stepping back.

She cleared her throat, her eyes falling to his grey t-shirt. "Uh - what time is it?" she dared.

He watched her carefully. "Nearly dawn."

"Huh." She sniffed, wiping at her face. "We should… ah… We should get a bit more sleep."

"Can you?"

"Of course," she bluffed. But she turned her head and found him watching her still.

"Ok," he agreed, backing away, staring into her frightened eyes.

She watched him go, her face taut, her eyes begging. He turned away deliberately, climbing back into bed and turning on his front. He pushed the pillow around irritably. He let his head _flump_ into it and all was quiet.

He waited. And waited. Then his conscience won and he rolled onto his right side, looking over and finding her sat up in her long Rush t-shirt, her arms round her knees, watching him with wide, disturbed eyes.

He pouted for a second, watching her. She tried to smile.

That was all it took.

"Alright," he called, as if it were monumentally unjust. "What do you want here?"

She didn't trust herself to speak, it seemed. Instead she raised a hand and pointed at his bed.

"You serious?" he hazarded. Her eyes dropped quickly and she nodded. He swallowed and his gaze ranged around the room for a long second. Then he grasped the bedcovers and pulled them back. "Ok then. Get in here."

His voice was a resigned sigh, a protest at the burden. But the way his eyes avoided hers, the stiffness in his shoulders, it all mixed with the air of forgiveness she felt breezing across the small room. She slid off her bed gratefully and padded over, hopping into his and squirming to get comfortable. The feelings she sorted into knowing were her own this time.

_Warmth, safety, comfort_, she realised. She managed to get an arm round him and her face into the front of his t-shirt as he let the blankets down over her. She closed her eyes as his arm rested on her shoulder. He let go of the blanket and lifted his arm politely.

"Go back to sleep, _Shupshe_," she breathed.

"Just don't go kicking things that don't belong to you," he grumbled, attempting to keep the same tone of resignation and grudging responsibility to his voice.

She listened silently to the currents of relief and satisfaction flowing off him like steam in a shower. The determination to stay on guard, the need to keep watch - they buffeted her and she swallowed, a little frightened by their ferocity, a little intimidated by the swell of purpose. She made herself shut off her reception of his feelings, forced herself to stop revelling in the stronger emotions sliding over her from someone so close.

He stretched out on his right side, feeling her forehead rest against his front slightly. His left hand came up and out in a gesture of frustration as he tried to determine just how he was supposed to arrange himself to sleep around her. Her hand laid flat against his ribs like a hiker reaching the summit of a peak, and it all went quiet. He let his eyes roll but managed to stall the huff at his predicament. Instead he let his hand and arm drop to the bed behind her and his head to his pillow again. She simply scooched closer and let out a long, relaxing sigh.

His left eye popped open and his head angled down. However, she didn't move and in fact seemed perfectly capable of sleeping in such a position. He let a slight huff escape and his eyes started to close.

When she sniffed and shifted closer against the length of his front, Dean pushed himself back onto his elbows and turned away from her with cautious deliberation, lest she encounter the natural reaction enjoyed by most young men first thing in the morning.

_That would be awkward with a big A_, he thought hastily, falling onto his front, one knee slightly raised to provide space for said natural reaction. He pushed his hands under the pillow and she simply got comfortable, her cheek on his shoulder blade and a hand to his raised side.

"That's better. Don't move," she smiled.

"Glad I'm serving a purpose," he grunted.

"You are. This is the safest place there is - and it's the cost of having me help you with monkey bats."

"And here's me thinking it was saving the Earth by not turning on the heat."

"Sleep."

"Don't you _ever_ tell Sam I did this."

"Sleep."

"Seriously."

"Sleep."

.

* * *

.

The bell on top of the door jingled as Dean pushed it open, looking around the diner and locating the three familiar heads at the far end. He walked over slowly, his boots making loud shuffling thumps against the worn tiles. He paused by the booth and spread his hands.

"Well will you lookie what we have here. What, a fire alarm go off? No-one stopped to get me," he smiled pointedly.

All three heads turned in his direction.

"Hey," Moon smiled, a knowing look in her eye. "We got you some pie."

He looked around the table top, seeing nothing but coffee cups and napkins dotted about. He curled his bottom lip out at her in confusion.

"But we ate it," she grinned.

Pamela started to chuckle wickedly. "Sit down, lazy-ass."

Dean sighed philosophically and slid into the seat, finding himself elbow to elbow with his brother.

"'Spose you had the first piece," he accused.

Sam said nothing, but he grinned rather too widely.

"Back-stabber," Dean tutted, waving a hand at the waitress across the room. She noticed and smiled, and he performed the universal tipping-up-a-drink manoeuvre with his hand. She nodded and made for the counter that held the coffee jug.

"So anyway," Moon said brightly. "What's new? Sam said you had thoughts on this monkey bat thing?"

"Ye-ah," Dean allowed. He fixed the young girl with a serious look and she felt her smile slipping. "We ah… we're gonna need your help on this one."

"What kind of my help?" she dared.

Dean opened his mouth but paused as the waitress appeared, brandishing coffee. Three of them watched her fill a clean cup for him until he nodded and she retreated to the counter. Then he leaned on the table again.

"We need to know exactly what you saw," Dean said quietly. "When you dreamed about these things hurting people. We need some more details."

"Like what?" she spluttered. "Their phone numbers?"

"Moon," he interrupted.

"I mean, it's not like they're scary or anything!" she blurted. "I've seen people pulled to pieces in films, but seeing it happen right in front of you and you can't blink is--"

"Moon."

"--is just nasty and excuse me for saying, but I don't see why I have to go flicking back through old dreams when you two could probably just--"

"Moon!"

"--do a bit of legwork and find out where these bastards are without me having to--"

"Pukkeesis," Dean snapped.

Moon stopped short, her mouth hanging open slightly. They locked gazes and she closed her jaw with a snap.

"Don't call me that," she said quietly.

"Look, I'm real sorry, I am. I would give anything not to make you remember what you've seen," he said quietly, and she stared into his eyes with sudden understanding. "But… you're all we got, ok? If we don't confirm a few things and if we can't work out where they could be next, then we can't stop them tearing up some new innocent person."

He paused. She felt his next sentence, knew he was working his way up to it.

"Say it," she whispered.

Sam frowned at her, lost. He slid his eyes to his brother. Dean was running a tongue over his lower lip slowly, his eyes narrowed, pensive. He leaned closer to her across the table.

"You've seen _everything_ they did to me, _everything_ I did in return, and I know neither of us wants to remember it," he breathed. "So I know how hard this is gonna be. But all I'm asking is a chance to get clues from what these bat things did." He swallowed and his gaze dropped to the table. "You know it's only going to help people."

She continued to stare at him until Pamela put a hand out, laying it on Moon's forearm.

"It's ok," she said quietly. "I'll be here."

"Fine," Moon whispered. Dean looked up at her, sitting back, and Sam half-expected his brother to shake his head, to stop her somehow. "Fine. But then… Afterwards. You'll owe me."

Dean studied her face for what seemed like an eternity. Then he nodded slightly. "I'll owe you," he confirmed.

"And you know _what_ you'll owe me," she added.

Dean thought for a minute. "Yeah."

"Then it's a deal," Moon said bravely, straightening in her seat. "So can we get out of here and go do this before I change my mind?"

.

* * *

.

"Ok. Take a seat, and try to make yourself relax," Pamela said easily.

Moon went to her adopted bed in the motel room, sitting slowly. Sam and Dean moved back to the far wall, hands in pockets, pretending they weren't really watching so very closely.

"What are you gonna do?" Moon asked Pamela nervously.

Pamela walked around, her hands out, to find the chair from next to the TV set. She lifted it and shuffled it over next to Moon's side of the bed. "I'm just gonna help you remember. If it gets too bad, you can just open your eyes, ok?"

"Seriously? I just open my eyes?" she asked, looking over at the two boys in a tacit plea for strength.

"Absolutely," Pamela confirmed. She cleared her throat and put her hand out, finding Moon's arm in her lap. "Now then. Close your eyes, clear your mind."

Moon gave Dean a fearful look that he took like a slap to the nose. He looked at his feet and she closed her eyes firmly, fidgeting slightly in place.

"Clear it," Pamela said quietly. "That's it. Now… I'm going to count to ten. When I reach ten, you're going to think of bats. Spider bats. Bats you've seen before. You're going to remember what you saw, you're going to tell me what you see. Ok?"

"I can try," Moon said weakly.

Pamela's face scrunched up, as if displeased. "Ok," she allowed.

Sam watched, aware that Pamela seemed unhappy about something. But he knew to talk would be to incur her wrath, and the one thing he did _not_ want from Pamela was wrath.

"Ok, here we go, Moon. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine… and ten."

Pamela lifted her hand from the younger girl's arm. "What can you see?"

"The inside of my eyelids," Moon said flatly.

Pamela sighed. "I knew you weren't the suggestive type."

Moon's left eye popped open. "Now what?"

"Now I take you on a magical mystery tour," she said, getting up and putting her hands out to help her find the bed. She sat herself next to Moon, reaching over with both hands and taking hers firmly. "We'll go together. I'll help you."

"Great," Moon allowed. She let her other eye open and looked at Dean. He lifted his chin slightly and gave a small, encouraging nod. She took a deep breath.

"And stop looking at Dean. He's not the only strength you've got," Pamela advised.

Sam looked from the girls to Dean and back again.

"And if you think he's the pillar of strength you need, woah, did you ever back the wrong horse," Pamela added sourly.

Dean's face creased in defensive protest and he opened his mouth. Pamela lifted a hand in his direction.

"Stop. Just… don't," she warned. "We can do you another time."

Dean's mouth closed and he realised Sam was looking at him. He turned his angry eyes on his younger brother and Sam blinked, shrugging at him. They looked back at the two girls.

Pamela took a deep breath and cleared her throat. "Right. I'm going to count to five. When I get to five, I'll be looking at everything in your head."

"Everything?" she prompted.

"Everything. We're looking for monkey bats."

"Gotcha." Moon took a deep breath and relaxed slightly.

The boys watched, hearing no numbers spoken, no more words. Dean was about to ask where the countdown went but Pamela's lips moved silently. Then again, this time with sound.

"Bats… six or eight or… bats," she murmured. "A man… A man… the bats chase him. The man… he turns. He has silver. He strikes. The bat falls… he is laughing. He… The others come together. They… they swarm. They rush him. One bat is stabbed - it's the silver. It falls, it's dead. The others… they batter at his head. They envelope him, they are winning, they will kill him…"

Moon's mouth began to move slowly, matching Pamela's, and they murmured together.

"They strike together. They work together. He is down. They scratch at his body," they said, but Moon's face was trembling afraid. "They want his eyes. They pull and tear!" she cried, horrified. "They dig at his face. They want his--"

"Stop!" Dean called.

Pamela's mouth stopped. Moon's lips paused, her face sank into blankness. Neither one of them moved. Moon did not open her eyes. Dean took a step but Sam grabbed his shoulder. Dean looked up at his younger brother, but Sam shook his head slowly. Then he jerked his chin at the pair of them.

"It's new. It's all new," Moon whispered. "A new man. The bats… I see the bats… there are only six now…" she said. Pamela remained motionless, listening, it seemed. "A man. Tall. He has blond hair. He walks from his car. It's… red. Dark red. A Dodge. A Dodge Charger."

"The plate?" Dean said carefully.

"The car… he loves the car… it's a Charger," she repeated. "The front wing is grey, it will be re-sprayed tomorrow. The car--"

"The plate," Dean said again, more loudly. Sam nudged him but Dean didn't look away from Moon's face.

"The plate…" she whispered. "The plate… It's blue, there's a mountain… A building on the right… The name is red, it's red…" She was silent for a moment. "U… U something… Utah," she blurted. "It says Utah…"

The boys exchanged a glance.

"HKR," she whispered. "The letters… HKR… a space… I can see the number four…" She gasped suddenly. "No! Bats! Bats!" she cried fearfully. Pamela tightened her grip on her arm. "He doesn't see them! He walks round the car - he doesn't see them!" she blurted. "The bats - they're coming… They've come for his eyes!"

Pamela leaned forward slightly, her other hand on Moon's arm now too.

"He has silver. He tries to stab them. They're too fast. He gets one! It drops! There are five now - only five. He laughs. The bats, they're not quick enough. Now there are five. They're scared. He is winning. He kills another. Four left! He thinks he's winning! The bats are angry, scared! He kills another!" she shrieked.

"Moon," Dean hissed.

"He is winning! He laughs! His eyes! His eyes! The bats want his eyes! They swarm, they scratch! They want his eyes!" she wailed. "He is winning! He stabs the bat! Now there are three!" She gripped Pamela tightly, starting to rock. A tear leaked from the side of her right eye.

"No! He tries to kill another! But--" Moon stopped short, clutching at Pamela desperately. "His eyes! His eyes are fire! He jerks, he twists, he cries out in pain! Something - something - the bats open their circle, the bats move away. I can see him! He is twisting, something painful, something _killing_--"

She stopped abruptly. The room held its breath.

"Dean," she whispered.

"Whut?" he asked quickly, stepping forward. Sam grabbed him and brought him to a stop.

"It's Dean. A knife. He has a knife. He is behind the man. He pulls it out of the man's side, his lower back… He covers the man's mouth, he silences his struggling… He looks around in the darkness… The man still struggles. Dean - Dean rams the knife in again. He waits." She paused for a long moment, the room staring at her in horror. "The man is dead. Dean drops him. The man falls. He is dead. He is dead. His eyes aren't open any more…" She blew out a long breath, calming herself visibly. "The bats… they're gone. Dean looks around, he looks for bats… but they're gone. He looks down at the man. He crouches, checks the man is dead. He looks at the knife, looks at the blood, then… he is… He is vindicated. He looks at the man, and he feels… vindicated. And he says… he says…"

The room waited, the tension almost unbearable.

"He says… '_not strong enough my ass_'," Moon said flatly.

Sam and Dean looked at each other, surprised. Then they looked at the two girls. Pamela lifted her head slowly, her hands sliding down to Moon's and squeezing.

"We're done," she said firmly. "We're done."

Moon opened her eyes, blinking as if the light were too bright. She looked at Pamela, who let go of her and got to her feet slowly.

"Is that what you need, boys?" she asked roughly.

.

.


	7. Seal Of Disapproval

**SEVEN**

**Seal of Disapproval**

.

.

"Pamela, was that--?" Sam asked, then found it too ridiculous and stopped himself.

But Pamela turned in his direction. "Yeah, kid. That was the future. You two better get your priorities straight. What's all this about, Dean? You killing strange people in parking lots now?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Dean demanded, confused. "And when is this supposed to happen anyway?"

"I don't know," Moon admitted edgily. "I don't know."

Dean ran a dry tongue over a dry lip in thought. "Whut was I wearing?"

"What?" Moon asked, surprised.

"When you saw me. What was I wearing? The same stuff as now?" he asked.

Moon looked at him, then thought for a second. "No," she said slowly. "No. You didn't have a shirt on. Just… just a t-shirt. A black t-shirt. And… and that kind of greenish jacket, the military-ish one with the epaulets on the shoulders, the strips that button over."

Dean looked confused for a whole second. He looked back at Sam, who shrugged.

"So who was that guy? Why did I stab him in a parking lot?" Dean demanded.

"We don't know," Sam said reasonably. "Not yet."

"What the hell, man?" Dean cried, confused. "I don't just go round knifing people like that!"

"I know," Sam said forcefully, putting his hands out in a placating gesture that did nothing at all for Dean's worry. "I know. I guess by the time we get to that point in - uh - time, it'll make sense," he added.

Dean just looked at him, then wiped his hands over his face. "It'd better," he grumped.

Sam turned to look round the motel room wearily. "Well… looks like the girls need a rest, and I need to get looking for Utah license plates with HKR4 on them."

"Yeah," Dean muttered. He rubbed a hand over his chin, still turning everything over in his head. "Ah… Moon, you want to go with Pamela to her room, get some--"

"Oh no," she said loudly, standing up and pinning him with an accusing look. His eyebrows went up and his face took on an expression of surprise mixed with cautious trepidation Sam had seen many times. "Don't you try and weasel your way out. You _owe_ me, Dean Winchester."

"Yeah, I do," he nodded. He looked round at Sam, who in turn was wearing his own rather overly-confused face. "Take Pamela back to the other room, let her sleep," he advised. "Call me if you find this Dodge Charger."

"Right," Sam allowed, walking round to find Pamela and take her arm. She nodded gratefully, and he suddenly realised how tired her movements were. "And what are you two going to do?" he asked his brother pointedly.

"Just go," Dean sighed. Sam shook his head at him, leading Pamela out of the room slowly.

The door closed behind them and Moon sagged. She wandered around and then sat on Dean's bed heavily.

"What a day," she moaned, leaning forward and putting her head in her hands.

Dean sat a discreet distance from her, putting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. "Yeah," he allowed. "It's not every day you find out you're about to murder some random guy in a parking lot, watched by spider monkey bats."

"He could be something to do with the bats."

"Well if he ain't, he certainly stumbled into the wrong reel of the movie," Dean sighed. "What bothers me is… why did the bats want him dead? Why did they want his eyes?"

She shivered and he looked at her.

"Who knows. I guess all we can do is wait and see," she allowed.

"I don't like waiting and seeing," Dean admitted. "It always turns out bad."

"Well at least Sam's on the case - he'll find the car, right?"

"Yeah," Dean breathed.

It was silent for a few minutes, each of them lost in their thoughts. Eventually she peered through her hands, looking up at him. "Time to make good on your promise," she warned, making her hands drop.

He looked at her, smiling weakly. "Couldn't we do something else?" he asked, and she heard the bravado in his tone.

"Nope. You and me are the only ones who know. So we're the only ones who can calmly talk about Hell with any experience. I'm over what I saw, you're not," she stated flatly. "So tell me why you're not. That was the deal."

He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat and looked at the ceiling. "Why? Why does everyone think that patting me on the head and giving me a group hug will make everything better?"

She closed her right fist and pushed it into his arm firmly.

"Ow!"

"Don't be such a baby," she commanded. "People are trying to help you, and you--"

"Maybe doin' it like that _ain't_ helping!" he protested. "What's with the sudden urge to heal me?"

"You've been running on empty for a while," she observed shrewdly, and he found himself stuck in her gaze like a rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming Mack truck. "Stop it. So what, you were running with the ball but then you went to Hell, and it got dropped. But you're back now - so pick up the ball and do something with it. Stop thinking the damn thing's going to bite you."

"Jesus, you sound like--." He stopped short, biting his lower lip.

She smiled, waving her hand in a small circle for him to continue. "It's ok, you can say it," she allowed wisely.

"You sound like me," he ventured. "_Old_ me. Before all it went FUBAR."

"I've been called worse," she chuckled. "So come on - our deal was you explain why Hell's got you running in fear."

As soon as she had said the last word, she knew she had crossed a line. His face turned dark, belligerent.

"Cos you didn't do what I did, Moon, _that's_ why," he snapped, and she paused, sensing great anger about to erupt. "You just saw it, like Pay-Per-View Rumble In The Jungle, you weren't actually _there_."

"O-k."

"You're the only person who knows exactly what I saw. What I did. You _saw_ all of it," he growled. "But you didn't _do_ it. _That's_ what the real fear is - not Hell, but _me_." He paused, as if this were a newsflash for himself too. "I shouldn't have to tell you a goddamn thing, and I don't see what talking about it is gonna do for me."

"Cos I've told you," she shot back, trying to counter his anger, "it wasn't you. It was the _Shupshe_. It wouldn't let you stand there and take a beating any more. That's what animal guides are for, they look out for you when your stupid human ideas of morals get in the way of what's good for you."

"Stupid human idea of _morals_?" he blurted.

She studied his sceptical face. "Yes. Animal guides don't have them. As such. Not like you would think of them." She paused. "But… whatever you think of yourself right now… you must be very strong."

"Me? Apparently not," Dean scoffed, looking away to the far wall. "At least, that's what Sam seems to think - and everyone else."

"Well they're _wrong_," she said with angry affirmation, and Dean looked at her, surprised. "They're wrong. Anyone who can control their own animal side - and keep a _Shupshe_, of all things, in check for thirty years of beating - is stronger than Sam can imagine."

"Uh…" Dean hesitated, not really knowing where to start. "Uh… tha--. Uhm. Thanks," he managed. "For the - ah - the vote of confidence. Don't get many of those."

"No worries," she smiled. She looked around the room, then shook her head, prepared to forget it. "I have a better idea," she added. "Let's play."

"Play whut?" he asked, with enough worry to fill the trunk of the Impala.

"Celine Dion, Mariah Carey, and… and… George W. Bush. Which one would you put on your personal Torture Rack and why?"

"No way!" Dean protested. "I can only choose _one_ for the Rack?"

"Only one," she chuckled. "One for _your_ Rack, one for Alastair's newest stress-toy, and one goes free."

"You're torturing _me_!" Dean cried in mock-horror, "You're sick!"

"Yup," she laughed. "Come on, this is what you owe me instead of discussing Hell - several hundred rounds of '_Rack, Toy or Release_'!"

"You are evil," Dean laughed.

"Evil is a very subjective term," said a voice.

Dean froze but his eyes rolled up and round slowly to look across the room. Moon looked the newcomer up and down slowly, taking in the windswept hair, the rumpled mac, the hangdog expression.

"How did you get in here?" she demanded, non-plussed.

"Who is this?" Castiel asked, his face confused and clearly unhappy about something.

"Cas. What the hell are you doing here?" Dean managed.

"We need to--"

"_Ayazhe'ni_!" Moon gasped. "You're an _ayazhe'ni_!" She leapt off the bed, pointing at him.

"Moon, wait," Dean said quickly, getting to his feet and raising a hand at her. She put her hand over her mouth, staring in wonder at the tall stranger now regarding her with open curiosity.

"How do you know I'm an angel?" he asked, troubled.

"Cos you're standing right there looking like an _ayazhe'ni_!" she hissed. "The size of those _wings_!" she cried, and it was impossible to tell if she were horrified or awestruck.

Dean just blinked at her. Then he turned back to the angel, who looked the same as he always had - without wings.

"Look man, you got balls of steel turning up while Pamela's here. This better be help this time."

But Castiel was still studying Moon. His gaze tilted from side to side as his blue eyes swept over her from the carpet up, stopping at her face to narrow and crumple into confusion. "I am not here to help," he admitted, sounding pre-occupied.

Dean walked round into the angel's line of sight. "Well there's news," he said sarcastically, as the angel turned his attention on the Winchester.

"Spider monkey bats," he said quietly.

Moon gasped. "How do you know about--"

"Awww _no_," Dean rumbled, realisation dawning on his face and throughout his soul. "Don't tell me - they're something to do with one of these seals now?"

"You cannot kill them," Castiel said confidently.

"Why not?" Dean demanded. "If these evil little muthas are having their own private turf war with demons, why not gank 'em all and be done with it?"

"They are not evil. Just vicious," Castiel replied slowly.

"But they attack people! They kill people!" Moon whispered hoarsely.

"Yes, they do. And they must keep doing it," Castiel said wisely.

"Did you get knocked on your head last trip down here?" Dean growled. "Gimme one good reason why we let these things live?"

"Because," Castiel said slowly, turning to look at him, "they protect seal number three hundred and seventy-nine."

"They protect a _seal_?" Dean demanded incredulously. "So - so - what, these demons are after this one, and the monkey bats are fighting back?"

Castiel circled to his left slowly, his gaze constantly over Dean's shoulder, keeping his gaze on Moon. She took a step back.

"Essentially," he muttered, pre-occupied. Dean's eyes followed him round.

"And you want us to help the bats, and kill the demons?"

"I do not _want_ you to do anything," Castiel admitted. Dean fumed and took a step, walking into his path. He put a hand up and shoved at the front of the angel's mac to stop him in his tracks.

"Ok, first off? Stop with the non-blinking-frowny-staring at the new girl, ok? It's freaking us _humans_ out," he snapped. "Second? Tell us what you know about these bats and what this seal actually is."

Castiel's gaze regained its lucidity and he turned his head to look Dean square in the eye.

"Do you trust her?" he asked curiously.

"I trust her. And so should you. She can see you, your wings, and probably all your lame-ass tricks too," he snapped.

Castiel's eyes narrowed and he appraised the Winchester with a look that was in itself a calm enquiry.

"Very well," he allowed. "The Attellterron, or spider monkey bats as you call them, are old. Very old. They have protected the seal since before Time."

"How can they exist before Time?" Moon asked innocently.

"They existed," Castiel nodded succinctly. Dean's head tilted slightly and he started to smile with a slyness that the angel had come to find worrying. "What?" he sighed, almost wearily.

"When you say 'Time', you mean 'belief in your God'," he observed. "So these monkey bats are from before your lot? Before the Bible got wrote and all you characters got sorted into the right roles?"

Castiel's face hardened. "Choose not to believe if you will, but do not presume to find humour in another's faith in the truth," he ground out.

Moon took a step back.

"Oh really," Dean grinned maliciously, folding his arms. "Ok then, I have a question," he added, his voice suddenly sounding very innocent, very young. "Why did God kill all the dinosaurs? Hmm? Oooh - I have another - why do dolphins' fins have finger bones, huh? Huh? Oooh - and this one's a killer: what's with telling everyone to be good, pure people all the time? I thought God loved a sinner just waitin' to repent."

"I too have a question," Castiel said forcefully. "Why do you shy away from killing demons these days, Dean? Before Hell, you would willingly drench them in holy water to make them talk, you would order Sam to exorcise them even though you knew you would kill the host. What happened to that fire?" he countered.

"I got dropped into a bigger one," Dean snapped. "Y'know, hanging around like last week's washing for thirty years kinda takes it out of you!"

"And then you let them ruin you," Castiel said quietly.

"And then I started getting some payback!" Dean cried angrily. "I wouldn't expect _you_ to understand what that would feel like!"

"Dean," Moon breathed, putting a hand to his arm from behind.

"But it wasn't, was it?" Castiel judged calmly. "You thought you should be enjoying it, until you realised you were not. Then what, Dean? What happened then? Tell us."

Dean's mouth opened but nothing came out. He felt Moon's grasp on his arm and swallowed.

"_That_ is when you actually broke," Castiel informed him. "That was the moment you realised you would never become a demon, as you were supposed to. Because you could not. Because you were not strong enough."

Dean's hands shot up and _whoomf_ed into the mac, grasping and pushing. The angel was slammed up against the wall, Dean's angry red face inches away.

"I am just about pissed off enough, _perverse_ enough, to track me down some weapon that could carve up angels, just to prove a point!" he seethed through gritted teeth.

Castiel, far from ruffled by his predicament, simply stared into the human's eyes, sneaking through the windows to his soul.

"And what is that point? That you can still kill things? I already know that," Castiel agreed. "Is that all you are, Dean? Is that all you want to be? Mud-monkey see, mud-monkey do?"

"You don't know anything about me," he growled, his voice thick with rage.

"You know I do. And I know you have always been a soldier. You have always been following orders. Anything else is too much of a stretch for you," Castiel said calmly. "Anything else would require being strong."

"'Being strong' ain't about killing things every chance you get," he breathed, and the angel suddenly looked interested.

"Then what is it about, Dean?" He watched the adrenaline spike in the human start to level off.

"Maybe it's about doing whatever it takes so you're still standing for the last round," he managed. "Maybe it's about not wasting your time with the small-fry. Maybe it's about finding out who your _real enemies are_."

Castiel's face turned unexpectedly pleasant. It wasn't a smile, but his eyes were no longer judgemental.

"And maybe my work here is done," he allowed.

Dean stared at him for moment longer. He opened his mouth.

There was a knock on the door. Dean let go of the mac quickly, looking over at it. He heard Moon gasp and looked back. He was unsurprised to see the angel was gone.

He blew out an angry breath and marched to the door, opening it quickly. "Sam, get in here," he ordered, standing clear.

Sam blinked at the harsh anger of his brother's voice. He wandered in cautiously, finding Moon standing with her hands wringing together.

"What?" he asked innocently. "What did I miss?"

Dean shut the door rather loudly and walked back into the room proper. "Cas was here."

"What? Why?" Sam blurted.

"He says we can't kill the monkey bats, cos they're protecting a goddamn _seal_," he spat.

"O-k," Sam said carefully. He looked at Moon, but she waved her hands and took several steps back, her eyes jerking toward Dean and his anger in a way that told Sam all he needed to know about how the conversation had gone.

"One good thing that threw Cas for a loop," Dean said suddenly, still angry but with a keen edge of vindictive humour fighting its way to the surface, "Moon here can see his wings. She can see _him_."

"Him?"

"Him. Like, what's underneath the frosted holy tax accountant icing," Dean nodded, satisfied. "I'm telling you, man, it freaked him right out."

"I'll bet," Sam murmured thoughtfully, looking at Moon. "So… what does he look like?"

"Like an _ayazhe'ni_," she shrugged. "I've never seen one before."

"Ok, we don't have a passing knowledge of the Potawatomi language," he said clearly. "What does that mean?"

"Just… he's like… well, an angel-thing, I guess," she shrugged. "But not like an Angel of Death. He'd have to be an amalgamation of spirit guides and animals for that."

"Yeah thanks, I seen that one," Dean allowed, making her smile.

"Yeah. But he's… he's like a lessor one. Like… Like he takes orders, not gives them."

"Really?" Sam asked, interested. "So… is he an animal?"

"Sam, people aren't animals, and neither are deities' servants," she scoffed.

"No, but you said… well you said Dean is a cougar, and I'm a timber wolf. What's Castiel?" he asked eagerly.

Dean looked at his brother, smiling suddenly. "Yeah," he said firmly, looking back at Moon, "what kind of animal is Castiel?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "I didn't really get anything from him. Anyway, did you come in for something?" she added, hoping to change the subject.

"Uh - yeah, sorry. I found the car you saw," he said quickly.

"Where?" Dean asked.

"The registered owner, Mr Gary Lands, lives not too far from here, just shy of the state line," he said, nodding to Moon.

"Then we go find him," Dean said.

"Woah - hold on here," Moon said quickly. "We go find him? And then what, you knife him once it gets dark? Why?"

"I don't know!" Dean snapped. "It's not like I wanna find some random dude by his car and just kill him, is it?"

"Then let's find out what we can about this… what was his name?" she asked Sam.

"Gary Lands," he supplied quietly.

"Him. We find out if he's into these seal things, whatever they are, and why he wants one broken. What happens if he breaks one anyway?" she asked innocently.

"Uh… bad stuff," Dean managed.

"Bad stuff?" she prompted.

"Like 'end of the world' bad," he added. "All they gotta do is break enough of 'em, and we're screwed."

"'They'?" she asked. "Do I want to keep asking these questions, or do I just nod, say 'that's nice Dean' and then help you two, safe in ignorance?"

"Ah… the latter. Definitely the latter," Sam nodded with an awkward smile. She sighed.

"Ok then. Well I'm about as drained as a Kansas park reservoir, and you two need to find out all you can about Gary thingy. I need to sleep. Go."

The boys exchanged a glance before Sam turned to the door. Dean sighed, picked up his jacket from the bed, and pushed him out before him.

As he closed the door he paused, then poked his head back in.

"Moon?" he called quietly.

"Go."

"If you need us, call."

"Go."

"Right." He closed the door and turned to find Sam watching him with large, owlish eyes. "Whut?"

"Nothing," Sam sighed, letting his arms drop and walking off.

Dean caught him up in the hallway. "Whut now?"

"Nothing," he repeated, entirely too innocently, as they found the stairs to ground level.

"Sam, don't be an ass."

"Ok… I appreciate you not rubbing my nose in it, seeing as Sunny's not here," he said sadly.

"Woah woah woah," Dean protested, grabbing his brother's arm and pulling him to a stop. "What are you talking about?"

"Her," Sam admitted, putting his hands to the back of his jeans, tugging them up slightly. His edgy gaze floated somewhere over Dean's shoulder.

"Who 'her'?" Dean asked, confused.

Sam shifted his gaze to him and studied his brother's face. "C'mon, Dean, I'm not stupid."

"Stupid how? Stupid like '_hey Doc, we don't have enough road to get up to eighty-eight_' stupid or '_Ray, when someone asks you if you're a god, you say yes_' stupid?" he asked innocently.

Sam huffed. "Stupid like '_I can't tell when my brother's sleeping with the psychic girl_' stupid," he said quietly, looking around and finding himself glad the corridor was empty.

"Whut?" Dean blurted, his eyes bulging slightly. "_You're_ the one sharing a room with her! You're not banging her already?" he hissed.

"Not Pamela," Sam tutted, "_Moon_."

Dean opened his mouth, then it halted. He stared at Sam for a long second, then his mouth opened again. He let it close, looking round the hallway.

"Don't try and deny it," Sam sighed. "Frankly, I don't care. But I was just… It was just good of you not to make it obvious. I'm trying to say… Well… thanks for not like… Like--"

"You think I'm trying not to rub it in your face cos Sunny's not here and you--. Right," Dean acknowledged. "But… would it make you feel any better if I said I weren't - weren't - _y'know_, with Moon?"

Sam looked at him, a bemused smile fighting its way onto his lips. He looked at the slightly red tips to his brother's ears, the way his eyes slid from side to side in a miniscule indicator of embarrassment.

"You--." Sam gave a tiny huff of amusement, blinking and sniffing before he tried again. "You can't even say it?"

"Aw c'mon, man," Dean moaned, uncomfortable. "She's like - like one of us, y'know? It ain't even--. It's not right," he shivered, clearly creeped out by the very thought. "Couldn't."

"You _couldn't_?" Sam pressed, enjoying his brother's discomfort. "Dean, you'll do any human female with a pulse. How is Moon different?"

"Cos like I said, she's one of us, alright! Can we stop with the Jerry Springer now and go find something out about this guy?"

Sam grinned. "_Ooooh_!" he gushed meaningfully. "She's one of _us_, is she?"

"You know what I mean," Dean said defensively.

"Oh yeah," Sam smiled maliciously, "I know _exactly_ what you mean. _Awwww!_ And all those years just us two growing up, I never realised you wanted a sister."

"I got _you_, didn't I?" Dean accused grumpily, and Sam chuckled.

"Whatever. Gary Lands. Let's go dig up something on Gary Lands," Sam said, turning away to the stairs again.

"And eat," Dean called after him, catching him up, "I'm starving."

.

.

* * *

_New chapter ok? Anyone like?_


	8. Sealed With A Lick

**EIGHT**

**Sealed With A Lick**

.

.

Sam yawned and sat back from the laptop, grasping his wrists and stretching his arms out with a lot of satisfaction. He let them drop and looked around the library, locating his brother's back. Dean was leaning one arm on the counter, apparently talking with the girl behind it. Sam rolled his eyes and put his attention back to his computer, saving all of his notes and ordering it to shut down. He picked up his notebook alongside it and bundled everything together, getting to his feet.

He walked across the carpet, stopping behind his brother.

"Is that so?" Dean was saying suavely, the girl behind the counter swinging slightly on her chair in amusement.

"Yeah, really! Here," she said brightly, taking up a Post-It note and scribbling something down. Dean turned and realised Sam was behind him. The younger sibling gestured to the door with his head, and Dean nodded irritably. "Here we are," the girl said suddenly, handing the small bright green square at Dean. "Add me."

"Right," Dean nodded, unsure, but he smiled widely as he pocketed the note. "Gotta go."

"Yeah," she sighed sadly.

Dean winked at her and walked off toward the doors, Sam following.

"Don't tell me, it's a phone number," he observed.

"I wish," Dean grumbled, pushing the glass door open and producing the small square from his pocket. "What's a twitter?"

"Twitter dot com?" Sam smiled. He plucked the note from Dean's hand, grinning. "She wants you to add her to your list of people you follow," he said slowly.

"Whut? Follow where?" Dean asked, confused and offended at the same time.

"No, _online_," he stressed.

"Where's the fun in that?" Dean protested. "Can't a girl just give you her number any more?"

Sam chuckled softly to himself. "Apparently not. Hey, that could be interesting," he observed. "You could actually type what you're doing every minute of the day."

"Say whut?"

"Well you're supposed to just put little updates on your page, answering the question 'what are you doing?'," he explained.

"Yeah right," Dean scoffed as they reached the parked Impala, "that'd be like… Sleep, sleep, wake up. Coffee, kill something, coffee, food. Drive, coffee, hang around for Sammy's research, drive, coffee, eat. Kill something, motel, beer, sleep."

Sam laughed out loud. "I wonder how many followers you'd have just in the first day, with a regimen like that."

"Only freaks, weirdoes and things that want to kill us," Dean sighed. He squeaked the door open and climbed into the classic. "So what did you find?"

Sam slid into the passenger seat. "I got an address for Mr Gary Lands - and I also checked on the whole silver weapon thing and these spider monkey bats. Looks like Moon saw correctly - silver can kill them."

"Cool. Bullets, knives, anything silver?"

"Poke it in the eye with a silver pen cap if you like," Sam shrugged.

Dean shook his head dismissively, leaning forward to put the key in the ignition.

"You must not kill them," said a voice.

The boys jumped but quickly recovered from their fright. They turned, Dean leaning an elbow on the back of the seat to look behind them.

"Will you stop sneaking up on us?" he grumped. "What do you want now, Cas?"

Castiel, sat rather comfortably with his hands on his knees, simply looked back at them. "You must not kill the Attellterron," he said slowly.

"The what?" Sam asked.

"He means the monkey bats," Dean supplied. "Yeah, you said that," he said to the angel currently sitting up straight in the rear seat. "And we're digging into this to try and find out who the real bad guys are, trust me. But in the meantime, if one of those creepy little things goes for me, I'm sorry man, but they are not gonna get off with just a slap on the wrist."

"You do what you have to, of course," Castiel nodded slowly.

Sam blinked in faint surprise. "So… Why are you here?"

"I am to tell you not to interfere. This is an internal conflict, Sam, your idea of a turf war was quite close," he informed him with his customary measured tones. "It must be settled internally."

"You mean demons vs. monkey bats. What, we can't get involved at all, not even when it's seal business?" Dean asked, confused. "I thought we were supposed to be the Seal Police until Lilith's hung, drawn and quartered?"

"I am to tell you 'not this time'," Castiel allowed.

Sam looked from the angel to his brother, then back again. "That's what you're _supposed_ to tell us. What do you really want us to do?"

"I do not _want_ you to do anything," Castiel replied calmly.

Dean turned round more to pin the angel with a look that would have put the fear of Winchester into just about any demon. "Look, Cas, I am getting tired of you making out like you're going to say something, then backing away like it stinks. Just what do you want?"

Sam put his hand up suddenly, making Dean pause and Castiel lean back a little.

"Castiel," Sam said slowly, eyeing him. "Where's Uriel?"

"He is… elsewhere."

"You sneaked over here? To tell us not to interfere?" Sam guessed.

"I am here."

"But you wouldn't _have_ to ninja your way down here and do it on the quiet, not when it's the Prime Directive and what Uriel wants anyway," Dean interrupted.

"It's not what you _say_, is it, Cas?" Sam grinned suddenly.

The angel simply eyed him, looking for all the world as if he were trying not to smile.

"It's what you _don't_ say," Sam and Dean suddenly realised together. They shared a knowing glance and looked back at the angel.

"So we're not supposed to look into this one. We're not supposed to go visit this Gary Lands and find out why he's trying to kill bats in a parking lot. We're not supposed to protect the evil monkey bats and kill any demons we find," Dean said clearly.

"That is correct," Castiel allowed, his gaze ranging up and around the back of the car, encountering the vinyl roof and suddenly finding it the most fascinating thing he had ever beheld.

"Cos if we did, you would have to stop us," Dean added.

"Do not flatter yourself," Castiel mused, his blue eyes devouring the vinyl roof pointedly. "There are less of us in the garrison now. We are all very busy."

The Winchesters passed a small gesture of amusement between them.

Sam cleared his throat. "So we'll just go and do nothing then," he announced.

"I am confused," Castiel said quietly, and the boys looked at him.

"Whut?" Dean asked. "You told us not to do anything, so we won't do anything."

"This is a car. Just a car," the angel was saying. "There is nothing… special, nothing animate, nothing attractive about it."

"Woah, hey now," Dean began, an offended flicker to his eyes.

"Dean," Sam tutted.

"Why would someone attach so much sentimental value to it?"

"Maybe cos _she is_ special," Dean protested.

"Oh, she is," Castiel replied cryptically. He watched Dean's face screw up in confusion and the angel's face didn't smile. But his eyes did. "And she talked about this car. With great… affection," he added.

"Whut? Who?" Dean demanded indignantly.

"Anna," Castiel said simply. "Why would she attach such value to this car?"

Sam's face started out perplexed, then suddenly it cleared and he turned to look at his brother accusingly.

"Dean. You didn't."

"Shut up, Sam," he groused, turning back round to the steering wheel.

"You _did_?"

"I said, shut up," Dean reiterated. "You coming with us to do nothing, Cas?"

There was no answer and both boys looked round. The rear seat was empty.

Sam turned round and sat slowly, his mouth open, his head shaking from side to side slowly. He huffed in wry bemusement, watching his brother deliberately not look at him as he started the engine.

"Don't look at me like that," Dean warned.

Sam just scoffed in wonder, shaking his head and looking out the side window. Dean turned the engine over gratefully, sniffing to himself as he leaned forward and pushed the cassette into the radio, snapping it on.

"'_Cos the walls started shaking, the earth was quaking, my mind was achin', we were makin' it and you_…!" sprang forth. Dean's eyes closed slowly, a mixture of annoyance and resignation on his previously smooth features as the voice of Brian Johnson brought them the chorus: "_Shook me all night long! Yeah you! Shook me all night long!_"

He opened his eyes and felt his brother's gaze on him. His eyes slid to his right. Sam was watching him, his mouth drawn into a very wide thin line, open slightly to reveal perfectly amused teeth as the cassette played on.

"_Working double time on the seduction line, she was one of a kind, she just mine all mine_--"

Dean shot forward and snapped off the radio quickly. He pushed the Impala into gear a little forcefully and stamped perhaps a shade too harshly with his boot. She leapt forward and he hauled her out of the car park as if the place were on fire.

.

* * *

.

"Moon?" Dean called, shoving the keycard in the door and opening it quickly.

"Yeah," she called back, and he walked into the room to find her and Pamela on Moon's bed, propped up against the headboard, watching television and sharing what looked like the biggest bag of popcorn in the state of Colorado.

"Hey, Dean," Pamela managed, her mouth full.

"Yeah," he allowed. "We gotta go. Sam found out where this Gary Lands dude lives, we're going to go pay him a visit."

"Ok," she sighed, sitting up and pressing the bag into Pamela's hand, but Dean put his hand out.

"No - me and Sam are gonna go. You two stay here."

"Why?" Moon argued.

"Sounds good," Pamela put in. "Moon, honey, what if the bats are there too? Do you really want to go meet one of these things up close and personal?"

"Oh," she said quietly. "You have a point."

"Pomfretphobia is a bummer," Pamela added. "At least here the worst you have to do is tell me how Tom Welling's got his hair right now."

Dean put his hands up and backed away warily. "You girls do… whatever it is you do with your onscreen men, and me and Sam'll go find out what this guy's got to do with anything," he said quickly.

"Run, Forrest, run," Pamela chuckled.

"Call me so I know you're alright," Moon said seriously, and Dean nodded. He turned and made fast tracks out of the room, closing the door quietly.

.

* * *

.

Dean brought the Impala to a stop, both boys leaning to look out of Sam's passenger window to the kerb.

The house looked normal enough, the garden almost cared-for, the paint on the woodwork mostly new and respectable.

"So do we know what this dude does for a living?" Dean ventured.

"Nope. But I called Bobby - we know he's not a hunter, at least."

"Good. His car's not here. Means we can ninja in the back door and rifle through his stuff without him being the wiser."

"Let's go," Sam confirmed, opening his door. Dean killed the engine and climbed out, locking her up and following his brother across the lawn.

They stole around the back of the house, Sam taking less than ten seconds to jimmy the lock open and swing the door wide, as if waiting for some hidden attack.

"Whut?" Dean whispered.

"No alarms," Sam observed. He stepped in and stopped dead. "Oh," he managed.

Dean heard a noise and poked his head round the doorjamb. "Oh," he nodded. "That's why there's no alarm."

Lying on the floor with a huge red ball in its mouth was the largest dog either of the boys had ever seen. It began to growl as Sam took a step toward the door to what looked like it could be a hallway.

"Uh… you _maybe_ don't wanna do that," Dean advised. The black and tan Rottweiler dropped the ball and its lips pulled back to reveal unhappy teeth. "Yeah, you _definitely_ don't wanna do that," he added quickly.

Sam froze. "Do something."

"Do whut?" Dean demanded urgently.

"It's just a dog."

"That's not a dog, that's a friggin' bear!" Dean hissed angrily.

The Rottweiler got to its paws, its head swinging from one brother to the other. It drew in a wheezy breath and barked half-heartedly at Sam.

"Sssshh!" Dean protested, his hands going out as if they could stop the animal. It turned its attention to him. "Look, look," he said quickly, his hands delving into his pockets desperately. The dog watched, its maw open as it started to pant slightly. "Look! Look what I got," Dean urged, bringing his left hand out to reveal the remnants of a Baby Ruth bar.

"You can't give chocolate to dogs," Sam hissed.

"Why not?"

"Too much will kill them!"

"Well whut do you want, Sam? Us or it?"

"Her. It's a her," Sam observed.

"Freak," Dean muttered. He noticed the dog was watching his hand and the candy bar in it. He kept it still and put his other hand in his right pocket. "Oooh, lookie here," he said smoothly, bringing his hand out. He kept his hand closed, lowering it to the tiles of the kitchen floor.

The dog dropped her head, watching avidly, snuffling and snorting as Dean kept his hand shut, staring at the pet with apprehension and well-masked fear.

"C'mon darlin'," he cooed lightly, "come and look what I got."

"Dean," Sam tutted.

But Dean smiled. "Shut up, Sam," he cooed, jiggling his hand. The dog licked her lips, taking a step. "That's it sweetheart, c'mon," he breathed, his voice high and light, full of good cheer. "See? See what I got?"

The dog took two more steps forward, her ears flapping and her nose twitching.

"She'll take your hand clean off," Sam predicted, his voice matching Dean's tone.

"No she won't," Dean cooed, "cos she knows I got something better than candy over here." The dog came forward slowly, her nose down to the tiles, watching Dean's hand carefully. He crouched slowly, eyeing the huge dog and her travel across the floor. "That's it, darlin', that's it," he cooed, as she stopped a few inches from his hand. "Ok sweetheart, smell that, come on, smell that," his soft voice advised, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Anything female, you can get your own way, is that it?" he asked flatly.

"Jealous, Sam?" he replied, making sure there was a smile and a definite feeling of warmth in there. "If she was a demon I'd just get you to bang her for me." He waited for Sam's huff, heard it, and carried on: "C'mon sweetheart, smell it."

The dog put her nose to the back of his hand, trailing it over. At last she licked at his fingers and he opened them slowly.

"A burger wrapper? You got a burger wrapper in your pocket?" Sam asked, incredulous.

"Yup," Dean grinned, watching the dog lick at it and then his hand. "And it came off a mushroom double Swiss - with bacon." The dog put her teeth to the waxy paper carefully, but Dean kept a hold on it. "Go, now," he hissed at Sam.

Sam backed away silently. The dog didn't even notice as he disappeared into the hallway.

He looked around, finding a door to his right. He opened it to find the front room, giving it a cursory glance before until he was sure it held no bureau or area for private effects. He walked back out into the hallway, listening. All he heard was Dean's quiet, persuading voice. He shook his head, found the stairs, and began to climb.

Once at the top he found the bedroom and a ten minute examination told him that Gary Lands worked somewhere that demanded a suit and tie. He was also up to date with repayments on his three credit cards, as well as being kitted-out ready to bring anyone home he managed to pick up from any of the four private clubs of which he was a member.

He put his hands on his hips, lost. He turned and walked to the door, but then paused. There was something very powdery in a slight heap by the doorjamb and he crouched down to look at it. He dipped his finger into the apex and lifted it to smell it.

"Sulphur," he concluded. He straightened and hurried down the stairs, remembering to slow down as he reached the kitchen.

"Oh really? Yeah? You like that, don't you, sweetheart, huh?" came Dean's delighted voice and Sam frowned, worried. He walked round the doorframe to find Dean sat cross-legged on the floor, one hand in the dog's mouth, his other hand clawing up and down her side forcefully.

The dog was whining in pleasure, her left hind leg bouncing in a desire to scratch the area of fur Dean was scrubbing with happy abandon. She grappled with his hand delightedly, gumming his fist and then jumping back to free her jaws. As Sam watched, spellbound, the dog launched herself at his big brother, her tongue landing firmly against his jaw and slathering all the way up his face.

"Eeeeyyiuuu!" Dean protested, but he was laughing. He grabbed the dog's collar and wrenched it back from his face, chuckling at her apparent love for covering him in as much saliva as possible. "You're lovin' me now, ain't you darlin', huh? Huh? I knew you didn't want to eat us," he gushed, stroking and rubbing at her coat with an entire truck labelled 'wide load' of affection. "Who's an awesome dog, huh? Who's an awesome dog?" he chuckled.

The dog, for her part, rolled her eyes in ultimate pleasure and whimpered, falling to the tiles and rolling onto her back, her legs bent in the air as she made whining, grunting noises. Dean leaned over and attacked her ribcage with both hands, scratching with enthusiasm and making '_grrrr_' noises in the back of his throat with delighted gusto.

Sam just folded his arms, content to watch as the dog squirmed and yelped in happiness.

"That's ma girl," Dean chuckled, rubbing and patting at her cavernous ribs. She jerked to her feet, nipping wetly at his nose and scrabbling to get onto his lap. "Sorry darlin', I don't do animals," he laughed, gripping her collar and pulling her clear to stroke at her head and coat.

She pushed her head into his chest, making tiny '_rowl_' noises and wagging her docked stump of a tail as hard as she could. Just when Sam thought Dean's grin could not get any wider, it did.

"Yeah, there we go," he gushed, clearly delighted, and Sam gave up watching the dog to turn his attention to his brother. Short of suddenly finding red meat after a thirty-six hour hunt, he had never seen him so happy. "Y'know whut? I'd take you home in a second - if I _had_ a home," Dean was saying with unbridled affection.

Sam blinked, unused to that tone of voice on his brother. He wondered fleetingly if it were somehow related to the tone of voice he had used in the back seat of the Impala at some point. He shook his head, clearing it.

"Are you done?" he asked, stepping round the doorjamb.

Dean looked up and round quickly. "Aw, hey, Sam," he said in a hurry, looking back at the dog. "I'm just - er - just making sure she don't - ah… You find anything?" he asked, getting to his feet suddenly.

The dog whined and grabbed onto the sleeve of his jacket quickly. He patted at her head but kept his gaze on his brother.

"Nothing that tells me why Gary Lands would be hunting down or being attacked by bats," he said. "However, I did find traces of sulphur upstairs."

"So he's possessed?" Dean guessed. "Right. That's just great," he tutted, looking back down at the dog. She was yanking at his sleeve. "Cut that out," he advised. He pulled at his arm but the dog held it fast, desperate not to be separated. "Angel!" Dean hissed.

"Angel?" Sam prompted.

"It's written on her tag," Dean explained. He crouched and grabbed the dog's head in his hand. She let go immediately and licked at his face. "You are just serious fun," he grinned. "But it's time to go."

He let go and stood again.

"Basket," he ordered, pointing at the raffia circular affair in the far corner of the room. She stuck her tongue out, panting and whining at him. "Basket!"

She licked her jowls and turned, trotting disconsolately to the bed. She looked down at it, then back at him. She let her mouth hang open, her eyes pinching up in heartbreak.

Dean sagged. "Aw hell," he tutted. He walked over and crouched next to the bed, patting it. She leapt in immediately, circling and settling herself in a comfortable, curled-up position. She let her neck hang over the back of the raffia and Dean grinned, sliding his hand over her head and scratching. She squirmed and turned onto her back, whining and yelping in pleasure. Dean leaned over and rubbed at her ribs enthusiastically.

"Can we go now? Or are you staying here till Mr Lands gets back and accuses you of stealing his pet's affections?" Sam sighed.

"Alright, I'm coming," Dean snapped defensively. He scrubbed again at her head before standing slowly. "Sorry sweetheart. Gotta go."

He walked away and she struggled, starting to climb out of the basket.

"Stay!" Dean called quickly. She froze, then sank back into the bed. Dean bit his lip.

"Come on," Sam said, grabbing his arm to pull him along.

"Couldn't we just--"

"No," Sam said firmly. He pulled his hand from Dean's arm and looked at it. "Oh, gross," he tutted. "Dude, you're covered in dog spit."

"Better dog spit that my own blood," he grumped, turning to the back door. Sam shrugged philosophically and walked out of the door.

Dean stopped by the door and looked back round the frame at the panting, whining canine.

"You are one awesome dog. Take care, sweetheart." He winked and was gone round the door, closing it carefully behind him. She whined, lowering her head to the basket rim and sighing abruptly.

Sam and Dean walked across the lawn to the car in the failing light, Dean pulling off his jacket and turning it in his hands to look at it.

"Aw, man! Look at this," he tutted. Sam looked over as they reached the Impala.

"I told you it was full of dog spit," he shrugged. "That's what you get for nearly makin' out with some huge dog," he added maliciously.

"Me? You're the one who bangs bitches," Dean shot back with a wide, maleficent smile, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. Are we leaving now?" he asked.

"Yeah, hang on," Dean replied. He unlocked the door and squeaked it open, but then paused as he looked down at his shirt. "Aw, dammit."

As Sam got in the passenger side and made himself comfortable, Dean walked round to the boot and opened it up. He closed it and came back, sliding into the driver's seat.

"What happened to your shirt?" Sam asked.

"It was as wet as my jacket," Dean grumped, now wearing just a black t-shirt. He put the keys in the ignition and the engine purred into life. He checked the mirrors and pulled away from the kerb, heading for the end of the road.

They came to the end and the car idled while they waited for traffic to give him an opening to pull out. Suddenly Dean turned in his seat to look past them.

Sam looked back too. "What?"

"That was Gary Lands - or at least, that was his Charger," Dean urged. He flicked his gaze up to the rear-view mirror before checking the road around them. He slid the Impala into Reverse and turned, resting his elbow on the seat as he pulled the car back from the junction.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked.

"Well seeing what he's doing, that's what," Dean said, finding the small side-road and reversing down it. He whipped the wheel round as he slid her into Drive, pulling back down the road.

They found the red Dodge Charger parked in the road, the engine running, the driver's door open at the pavement.

Dean looked down and snapped on the sidelights, the dashboard lighting up. "That's better," he muttered. "Didn't even notice it going dark."

"So let's get in there and find out what's going on," Sam said.

"Woah woah woah - slow your roll," Dean said irritably. "What we need to do first is--"

"Dean, we got the knife and we got silver - let's just go in there, and if he is a demon, we trap him and get him to tell us how many more there are!" Sam cried.

"And how do we know there ain't more on the way right now, Sam?" he shot back angrily. He brought the car to a stop about a hundred yards away from the Charger.

"Dean, I know what this is about," Sam accused. "You're scared to go in there when you know he's probably be a demon, I get it--"

"You watch your mouth!" Dean snapped with sudden fire, but Sam huffed loudly.

"Right. Fine. _Whatever_," he replied pointedly. It was silent as they watched the car.

"There, see?" Dean said, nodding to the lone man running back out to the car with something shiny in his hand. He tossed it into the passenger seat and climbed into the car, slamming the door and gripping the wheel. "He better not have hurt that dog," Dean muttered, as if to himself.

The Winchesters watched him drive off without even checking the traffic, speeding to the end of the road. Dean wrenched the stalk into Reverse, squealing backwards round the side road again. He slammed her to a stop, pushing the stalk into Drive and flooring the pedal. The Impala sprang forward and they followed the Charger to the end of the road.

The car went right, and after a few cars, so did the Winchesters.

"Look, all I'm saying is, there are two of us and one of him," Sam said reasonably. "All we gotta do is--"

"Stop talking at me like I'm five years old, Sam," Dean snapped. "I ain't scared of him and I ain't scared of putting my foot up your ass if you keep telling me I am!"

"Then quit dodging every demon we come across!" Sam cried thickly.

"It's not dodging, Sam, it's--"

"Yeah, I know, it's playing smart - so you keep saying," he interrupted hotly. "Fine. Call it what you like - you stay safe in the car while I go out and kill the demon," he accused.

Dean didn't answer, his angry eyes fixed on the car in front of them. It was silent for a long minute as they turned the corner and followed the red car a few vehicles in front of them. Street lights started to blink on, dusk started to descend, and the silence in the Impala blanketed everything so thickly Sam was beginning to think they would never hear another sound.

The car turned off the road, into a car park lit fiercely with huge banks of lights. Dean brought the Impala to a stop and they watched the red Charger drift down the parked cars, finding a space away from all the others.

Sam gripped the door handle, about to get out. Dean grasped his shoulder quickly.

"Sam! Wait!" he called angrily.

Sam huffed and turned, his mouth opening to argue the toss again. But his eyes flicked out of the front window and he paused.

"Oh," he said lamely.

Dean let go of his shoulder to open the glovebox, rifling through. He pulled out the Taurus handgun and pushed it at Sam.

"Load it with silver," he ordered. Sam lifted his hand and took the gun without looking, his eyes glued to the black cloud of flapping creatures high above the car park lights.

"Yeah," he confirmed, scrabbling for the door release.

He and Dean piled out of the car and round to the boot hurriedly.

Sam wrenched it open, rifling through for the box of silver bullets. He found it and then his eyes caught the demon knife. He snatched it up, about to slip it into his pocket.

Dean was by the rear door. He looked down at himself, finding himself chilly in the cold air and only his black t-shirt. He opened the door, climbing in on his knees and finding the duffle on the back seat. He opened it and grabbed the first heavy thing with which his fingers connected. He pulled it out and crawled out of the car, unfurling it with a snap. He found the arms and pulled it on quickly.

"Right," he said sternly, eyeing Sam. "Are there any silver bullets left?"

"N-no," Sam admitted. "I thought your Colt was already loaded?"

"Crap," Dean breathed heavily. "No. Well it ain't gonna matter anyway, we're not here for the bats."

They heard a shout and a commotion and looked over. Bats were descending, circling and picking at the waving, slashing human shell in the middle.

"Gimme that," Dean said, taking the knife from Sam's hand.

He swallowed, worried. "What are you gonna do?" he demanded.

Dean looked down at himself. "Well, I got a black t-shirt on and my green jacket, and a demon knife in my hand. Guess this is Moon's vision - so it looks like I'm gonna go kill a demon."

.

.


	9. Now You Seal It, Now You Don't

**NINE**

**Now You Seal It, Now You Don't**

.

.

Dean turned and began to run at the man in the circle of fluttering, scrabbling bats.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, worried. His fingers started to tremble slightly. He tried to ram the last few silver bullets into the gun. He dropped one and looked around the boot lid quickly to see where his brother had got to.

Gary Lands was laughing maniacally, slashing a long silver blade through the air around him. Bats larger than his head swirled and aimed at him. Six pairs of wings battered and scrabbled to get close to him. He felt a rip at his arm, knew blood was pouring. His blade thunked deep into a warm body. He ripped it free to catch a glimpse. The dead body was slamming to the gravel under him. He laughed in triumph, slashing at everything around him.

Dean came to a stop, staring. The bats were nearly three feet in body alone, their Stygian black wings paper-thin. And yet they made the strangest cutting noise as they sliced through the air. Suddenly Dean did not feel safe with only a long demon knife in his right hand.

He saw another bat fall, spinning to crash into the gravel, lifeless. He didn't hesitate.

He rushed at the standing man, bumping into his back. His left hand grabbed him round the chest. His right hand thrust forward. The knife plunged into the warm flesh and sank in up to the hilt.

Dean heard the tell-tale snapping, almost electrical crackles of demonic death throes. Gary Lands opened his mouth. Dean dragged the knife free. But his other hand moved up and slapped over his mouth quickly, clamping the noise in. He began to thrash and struggle. Dean rammed the knife in again. He waited until it was in as far as it would go. Then he twisted it.

Gary Lands gave a series of small jerks. He started to go limp in the human's grip. Dean pulled the knife free and took his hand from his mouth. The body slid to the ground, lifeless and empty of demonic parasites. Dean looked him over slowly, as if expecting movement. But there was none.

He looked up quickly, remembering the bats. The air was empty, the skies free of strange shapes. He crouched down to the man, taking in two smells that told him the demon had left some kind of sulphur residue behind, and that Mr Gary Lands had been dead for possibly a few days. He looked at the knife, lifting it up to his face and taking in the glistening, bloody tip.

A small half-smile flitted across his face, leaving him looking vindicated and just for a tiny sliver of a second, almost relieved.

He looked back down at the dead man, taking in a slight breath.

"Not strong enough--." He paused, remembering Moon's vision. He shrugged and said exactly what he felt like saying anyway: "Not strong enough my ass."

He heard heavy footfalls rushing up behind him and turned quickly, the knife ready.

"Did you get him?" Sam asked, his gun pointing at the ground.

"Yeah, I got him," Dean confirmed, relaxing. "Nice of you to help."

"I was loading," Sam protested.

_Takes him less than twenty seconds to load that entire gun, and we both know it_, Dean thought. He sniffed and brandished the knife pointedly in the harsh floodlights. "I was ready. You weren't."

"Yeah, well," Sam shrugged. "I knew you'd do it."

"You did? Wow, thanks for your faith, I couldn't have done it without you," Dean accused sarcastically.

"What? What are you--"

"Standing back and letting me prove I can still do the job, Sammy? Thanks. But I don't need your pity," he snapped, turning and walking back toward the Impala.

"Dean, come on," Sam heaved in frustration, following him slowly. "You killed him, you saved the bats. What's the big deal?"

"I'm not sure what annoys me more," Dean said gruffly, thinly disguised anger bubbling under the surface of his face. "You going round telling everyone I can't do the job any more, or standing there watching me do it, ready to pat me on the head."

"Woah, Dean, I never--"

"Just - just _stop_!" Dean cried, turning to him with his hands out in a small, angry wave. "Just stop. Cos I know the next thing out of your mouth is gonna be a lie, Sammy! I know you mean well, and I know it'll hurt you to say it, but you're gonna lie to try and patch all this up before we get back in the car. Just - please - pretend I'm not as stupid as everyone thinks," he snapped.

They stared at each other in the darkness, Sam's eyes sloping at the edges, as if collapsing under their own mortification. Dean's jaw was out and unrepentant, and it took all of Sam's reserve not to look away.

"I've never…" Sam began, then cleared his throat and he was compelled to look at his feet. "I've never thought you were stupid."

"Really. That's nice to know," Dean snapped, apparently not ready to let it go just yet.

"Arrogant, sometimes, dumb, maybe… but never stupid," Sam admitted. He couldn't help a small smile pulling at the side of his mouth. "That's why I always wanted to be you, when we were kids."

"Aww, Sammy, don't--"

"No," Sam said forcefully. He looked up, found Dean squirming in discomfort. "No. It's true."

"Right right - and then I went to Hell, broke like a girl, came back, you knew all about it, and suddenly I was the waste of space you'd always known I'd become. Touching. You should write that down in script form, send it in to _One Life To Live_," he snapped.

"Dean!" Sam implored, his face heart-breaking in its hurt. "Thirty years, Dean! Thirty _years_! You held out for thirty goddamn years! You really think I could have done any better?"

"_Yes!_" Dean raged suddenly. Sam took a step back, unprepared. "Yes! Cos you're just like Dad, stubborn till it kills you! I shoulda been more stubborn! I shoulda--!" He stopped abruptly, either lost for words or unable to voice those he had found.

Sam watched his older brother's gaze range around the car park asphalt, avoiding him at all costs.

"_No-one_ - is supposed to come back from Hell, Dean. _No-one_." He sniffed professionally, watching his big brother nod, still studying his boots. "Maybe cos… actually escaping is one thing. But… but picking yourself up and moving on? That's probably what's supposed to be impossible." He noticed Dean's head drop further, his eyes out of sight. "But you're doing it, right? You've been out now for… months. And you're still doing the job, right?"

Dean nodded, gazing at the tarmacadum under his boots.

"So there is light at the end, Dean. There is," Sam urged.

Dean looked up slowly, his face a facetious smirk. "You said once it was Hellfire."

"Dean, we got _angels_ working with us. _Angels_," he pressed hotly. "Who gets that kind of peer in their work?"

Dean gave a soft snort of amusement, shaking his head.

"And Cas, even though he can be the most annoying thing we've had to work with - he believes in you, Dean."

"Whut?" Dean asked, his face crumpling in abrupt bafflement.

"Oh come on, it's all over his face," Sam tutted. "You're his golden boy, you're the one he's rooting for. I'm just riding shotgun. He thinks you're the one who's going to stop all this."

"He's the only one." _Cos I'm a basket case. We all know it, just no-one wants to say it out loud_.

"I--." Sam stopped, biting his lip.

"Whut?" Dean dared, his face wide open with innocence and nervousness.

"I… kinda do, too," Sam allowed. "Much as I want it to be me," he mumbled.

"Why?" Dean havered, lost.

"Cos, everything else aside… How cool is it if your big brother saves the world?" he asked, his face anguished in its attempt to look politely detached.

Dean's mouth opened but his words floundered. He gave a huff that was more wry amusement than accusation, and he turned away to the car.

"Yeah well. We ain't there yet," he allowed.

"But at least you saved a seal tonight," Sam put in, catching up with him as they walked back to the car.

"Actually, Sam… He did not," came a voice, and they stopped short.

"For the love of gun oil - _stop doing that_!" Dean cried, spinning on the spot to find Castiel watching them.

"You killed a single demon. You protected the Attellterron. But the seal will still be broken," the angel said, without a flicker of surprise or movement at Dean's volume.

"I thought we weren't supposed to be doing anything at all," Sam put in. "So what does it matter?"

"What matters is that… there are only three Attellterron left," Castiel replied quietly. "When the last one falls, so does the seal."

"Where is this seal? Why can't we just go find it?" Dean demanded.

"The seal is not a physical entity," Castiel said, putting his hands into the pockets of his mac.

"So what is it then?" Sam asked patiently.

"The Attellterron are the seal. When the last one dies, the seal ceases to be."

"Great. So all we have to do now is bodyguard three monkey bats for the rest of our lives," Dean tutted. "And what if this ain't one of the seals that Lilith wants to break anyway?"

"It is not Lilith who is after this seal," Castiel advised. "We have a copy-cat on our hands."

"Super!" Dean cried, exasperated. He threw his hands up in frustration. "A copy-cat seal killer! Why don't you call the World Wildlife Fund and get them on the case - they got big-ass elephant guns, jeeps, the works!"

"But if the seal is broken, it still counts toward Lilith's total?" Sam asked, ignoring his brother's angry outburst.

"Yes," Castiel confirmed.

"So… why these monkey bats?" Sam asked.

Castiel opened his mouth, but he was interrupted.

"Cos there ain't many of them and they're easy to kill - all you gotta do is dangle a demon in front of them and they line up to be shot down like ducks at a fairground," Dean snapped.

Castiel appraised him for a long second. "Exactly," he allowed. "They have an unfortunate weakness. They cannot restrain themselves when they see a demon." He paused. "Much like Dean with females, I have come to learn."

"Holy crap!" Dean blurted, slapping a hand to his chest over his heart in mock horror. "Was that your first _joke_? Sammy, we gotta call the papers! The TV! News at eleven - '_Angel loses stick up his ass - reward offered for its safe return_'!"

"However," Castiel ploughed on loudly, completely ignoring the elder Winchester, "it is a little-known fact that the Attellterron have a seal of their own."

"Whut?" Dean asked quickly. "Another seal? That does whut, wee-lease Woderwick?"

Sam punched lightly at Dean's arm in annoyance. Dean clapped his hand over the point of impact and looked at Sam, mouthing '_ow_' in an overly elaborate manner. Sam just shook his head at him, then turned to the angel.

"And why is this a little-known fact?" Sam prompted.

"Because the seal has stood since before Time," Castiel admitted, eyeing Dean as if daring him to speak his next sentence.

Dean, being Dean, did exactly that with so much innocence it dripped off his voice and puddled neatly on the ground: "Oh, you mean when the world was created by swirling gases and Big Bangs and actual scientifical crap, instead o' some fancy-pants God going into his workshed and knocking up an entire universe on his week off?"

Sam huffed as Castiel looked up, eyeing the silent stars. Sam wondered, not for the first time, what level of swear words or prayers for strength were running through the celestial creature's head.

Sam cleared his throat quietly. "Uh, Cas?" he dared.

The angel lowered his gaze slowly. "…eight, nine, ten," he muttered under his breath. "Yes, Sam?" he asked calmly.

Sam sniffed and thought about his question very carefully. "This other seal, the one from before Time," he said.

"Yes, Sam."

"What does it protect?"

"Nothing."

"Whut? So what's the point?" Dean blurted.

"What it was put in place to protect no longer exists," Castiel added.

"Right, right…" Dean mused, a politely angry smile on his face. Then it dropped swiftly: "Do us a favour, Cas - just _elaborate your damn answers_!"

Castiel looked confused and Sam sighed, putting his hands out in soothing gesture totally lost on his brother.

"Cas - who was this seal designed to protect? What happens when it's opened?"

"I do not know whom it was designed to protect, nor who built it," Castiel admitted, and Dean threw his hands in the air again, turning away a few steps and muttering to himself. "They also existed before Time." He looked at Dean, waiting for him to pass judgement, but he seemed occupied mouthing something that was apparently leaking blue dye, going by the way the air was changing colour around him.

"But what happens when it's broken?" Sam pressed.

"It rains down great vengeance and furious anger--" Castiel began.

"Like Samuel L. Jackson?" Dean interrupted.

Castiel's mouth closed into a thin line. He took a deliberate step to bring Sam into his line of sight and exclude the elder Winchester. He took a deep breath, and let it out into the cold night air.

"It releases those Attellterron which were caged," he continued succinctly.

Sam blinked, thinking about it. He looked at his feet, his brain whirling faster than a returning NASA rocket. "So where do we find--"

He looked up. Castiel was gone.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean cried angrily into the darkness. A familiar guitar strain suddenly cut the chill of the car park and Dean fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He yanked it out and slapped it to his ear.

"Yeah! Whut!" he demanded. "Oh. Moon. Yeah, yeah, we got him. Yeah. No, we're fine." He paused and looked up suddenly, reaching a hand out and tapping Sam's arm. He turned to look at him. "You did what? No no no - stay there - we're on the way back."

He shoved the phone back in his pocket and turned for the Impala.

"What is it?" Sam called, following quickly. They squeaked doors open and slid in quickly.

"Moon just saw monkey bats," Dean said curtly, starting the engine and sliding her into gear.

"In a dream? Well--"

"No, Sam. Outside the motel window. Real ones."

"Crap. That means--" Sam began, as the car was aimed for the exit and met the main road at speed.

"Yeah," Dean breathed. "It means somewhere nearby there's a demon with a big knife."

.

* * *

.

Moon peered out of the window, holding the curtain back as she searched the night for the shapes she had seen.

"Are they still out there?" Pamela whispered from the bed. She was sitting against the headboard, a small flask of holy water in her hands.

"Can't see them," Moon admitted. She bit her lip. "Maybe I was wrong."

"Well you sounded sure enough to me, honey." She sat still, waiting. "Is that their car?"

Moon looked out of the window again. "Can't see it."

"Damn. Thought it was the Impala. Now is not a good time to have my ears play tricks on me," she hissed.

Moon stood back from the curtains, holding her elbows tightly and looking round the room. "What do we do if they get in here?"

"Why would they get in here? They only come for demons, right?" Pamela whispered. "So if we're not demons, they won't bother with us."

"I hope so," Moon allowed. She backed away to the bed and sat slowly. "Um… If this doesn't go how we want, I want to say… Well, thanks," she said nervously.

"For what?"

"For all the help you've given me. You've given me my life back. I can sleep normally, I can walk around and not have to talk to myself to drown out everyone else's thoughts. I can… well, I can finally look at all this as a perk, not a curse," she added quietly.

Pamela smiled slowly. "It all depends how you use it," she advised. "Make sure it's always a perk. Never let it become a burden."

"I'll try," she smiled.

"And - oh, now _that's_ the Impala," she said suddenly, her head turning toward the window. "Isn't it?"

"Yeah," Moon breathed, relieved. She got up and raced to the window, pulling back the curtain and looking out. "Yeah, it's them." She watched the car pull up to the pavement and the lights go out. The doors few open and two heads hurried out but she lost sight of them against the building. She let out a sigh of relief and backed away to the bed again.

Pamela looked over at the door suddenly. "Holy shit," she cursed irritably, pushing herself off the bed and sliding her hand against the wall. "Moon, get over here," she snapped, pushing herself against the wall and unscrewing the cap of the flask quickly.

"Why?" she asked fearfully, hurrying over and landing next to the older woman.

"I hope those boys don't wait for the elevator," she breathed. "Cos there's a demon right outside the door."

"How does it know where we are?"

"I don't know. You know how to draw a devil's trap?"

"N - no. But I can exorcise him - there's a passage in Potawatomi that work just as good as the Latin version," she blurted.

"You used it before?"

"Yes. I know it wor--"

The door flew open, the wooden frame splintering. Shards of wood blew into the room. Moon and Pamela flinched into silence, pushing themselves further back against the wall.

"This is the trouble with knowing the Winchesters," said the tall, darkly clothed man. "Everyone who helps them dies."

Moon scrabbled at the collar of her t-shirt, grasping the pendent hanging behind it. She pressed her fingers to it, closing her eyes and starting to mumble something.

"Oh yeah?" Pamela called, lifting the water to a ready position. "Just you try it, you demonic son of a bitch!"

"This is going to be easy," he spat, advancing on the two of them, raising his hands. "And you can stop your backward tongues, little girl," he suddenly said, his face alarmed. "It's not going to work on me."

"Funny. You seem a little hot to me," Pamela snapped. "Let me help you with that." She flung her hand round in an arc, splashing holy water around her in a giant circle.

The demon growled and took a step back. He shook his head desperately, as if to try and shuck it from his borrowed skin. He reached out his hands, roaring in pain. He grabbed both girls by the throat. Moon opened her eyes, still trying to speak the words.

"Now you get your reward for helping a Winchester," he sneered, his grip tightening.

Abruptly he froze, his face a picture of shock. His hands squeezed in a rictus of agony. His eyes flashed, his body jerked. His fingers slipped from their necks. He took a step back, trying to steady himself. His hands flailed behind him, trying to find the white hot pain in the back and its cause.

Dean's hand grabbed at his shoulder. He pulled the knife from his back and then slammed it into the back of his neck.

The demon writhed and cried out. Then it was all over. The body became heavy. Dean let it go and it fell to the floor, leaving him standing over it, the bloodied knife in his hand.

"Nice throw," Sam commented, catching him up and looking down at the body.

"I was desperate," Dean breathed, his head bobbing up to the two girls. "You two ok?"

Pamela coughed and rubbed at her throat. Moon just lifted a single thumb, her face white.

"Why did some random demon come for _us_?" Pamela rasped.

"Well did he say anything?" Sam countered.

"He said something about helping you, so we had to die," Moon allowed quietly. Dean looked at her.

"You ok?"

"I will be," she whispered. "What are you two up to? Why did he think killing us would stop you?"

"I don't kn--" Dean began.

"Cos we're about to break a seal," Sam interrupted, snapping his fingers.

"What are you, nuts?" Dean demanded, turning on him.

"Not _their_ seal," Sam concluded, "the bats' seal. To free the other Attellterron."

"Wow. And how are we going to do that?" Dean asked, shrugging in mystification.

Sam opened his mouth, then thought about it. "The bats. They're already trying to find the seal. That's why they keep popping up everywhere. But they keep getting distracted by demons trying to kill them."

Dean's head tilted and he walked to the window slowly, looking out. "So… all we gotta do is help them find the right place where this seal is apparently held - whatever form it's in - then help 'em break it?"

"Yeah. And then there will be more of them again and the demons will have to give up. Depending on how many there are, it could take _years_ to kill them all to break the seal."

"That's good, Sammy," Dean said brightly, turning to look at him from across the room, "that's real good. I have one question."

"What?"

"Cas said he didn't know anything about this seal. The bats don't even know where it is. So how do _we_ find out about it?"

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Yeah," said Dean knowingly, "yeah."

"Wait a minute," Sam gasped in inspiration. "The demons don't attack the bats _every_ time, do they?"

"Uh - no idea," Dean shrugged. "Moon? What do you think?"

She shrugged. Dean turned back to Sam, his face lost.

"I have a theory," Sam muttered, going to the door to the room. "I need my laptop."

.

.


	10. Sealing A Moment

**TEN**

**Sealing A Moment**

.

.

Sam brought both duffles into the room, closing the door as best he could with no strip for the lock. He looked at his brother.

"You think we should move? When the guy finds out he has to put a new doorframe in, he's gonna be pissed," he observed. "And this demon may not have been working alone."

"Good point," Dean allowed. He turned to the girls. "Right, let's blow this pop-stand. Moon, you go with Pamela down to the car. Me and Sam'll get rid of this," he added, looking at the dead human on the floor.

"Right," Moon agreed quickly. She grabbed Pamela's arm and they edged around the corpse.

"Car's not locked," Sam added.

"Cool," Pamela said, pulling Moon's hand from her wrist to lay it on her shorter shoulder. "Let's go. Warn me about stairs," she advised.

The two girls disappeared out of the door and Sam blew out a huff. He turned to find Dean already moving to the body, rolling it over.

"Poor bastard," he mused, as if to himself. "Wonder what he was doin', what life he had before he got jumped."

"Yeah well, it doesn't matter now," Sam observed. "Let's just get him out of this room."

"Right," Dean grumped, clearing unhappy with something his brother had said. "Grab the bedsheet."

.

* * *

.

The car was quiet, save the rumble of the engine and the tiny squeaks and rattles that sank through Dean's skin like butter into toast. He let his shoulders relax and his hands ceased to grip the wheel quite so tightly. The smell of the car, the constant, reassuring purring told him he was home and whatever was outside the car could wait.

Pamela and Moon, comfortable in the back seat, were more than content to sit outside of the hive of activity in the front passenger seat. Sam either did not feel or did not share the effects of the classic around him. He had already booted up his laptop and was re-reading old files.

"Right right - get this," he said quickly from the passenger seat.

"Whut?"

"The monkey bats have been getting ganked all over town - this town," Sam urged.

"Paradox. Kinda fits, really," Dean added thoughtfully.

"But they've been other places - sightings, people actually letting off handguns thinking they were giant fruit bats, everything," he said. "But no-one died - or rather, no human host for a demon was found raked up anywhere - until Paradox, Colorado."

"So? Demons are lazy and won't move towns?"

"So the demons _know where the seal is_ - and they're killing monkey bats that get too close to it," Sam said triumphantly. "See? They're not wasting their time killing the bats if they're in the wrong town, looking for seals in all the wrong places. It's not till the bats came here, to this town, that people - demon hosts - started dying."

"Great. So all we gotta do is - is - is get us a demon and holy water him until he spills the location," Dean observed. "And tell us what this seal looks like, of course. Oh, and what we have to do to open it."

"Looks like," Sam shrugged.

"Super," Dean sighed. He lifted one hand off the wheel and rubbed his forehead wearily. Sam pretended not to see the expression of doubt on his brother's face. He looked out of his side window instead, watching the darkness flow by.

But Moon leaned forward slowly, putting her hand out on Dean's shoulder.

"Every _Shupshe_ has its day," she said quietly. She squeezed her hand slightly, and Dean looked up into the rear view mirror, finding her watching him. His face, weary and fearful, began to change as they locked eyes. By the time Sam had turned his head, Dean was already lifting his chin and looking back at the road with fierce determination.

Sam watched him. And something about the cold, tight look of dark intent on his brother's face made him shiver.

.

* * *

.

Sam opened the boot of the car in the dark car park, rummaging around inside for what he needed. He heard a slight rustling behind him and turned quickly.

"Sam," Castiel nodded genially.

"What now?" he asked wearily.

"You are preparing for something."

"The end of the world," Sam said sarcastically, turning his back to him and picking up the demon knife.

"I am to tell you again, not to get involved," Castiel sighed.

"Ok, you _told_ us."

"I am to tell you that this is an internal matter."

"Ok, you _told_ us," Sam repeated, shuffling his things into his duffle.

"Do not leave Dean alone with the demon."

"_Ok_, you _told_--." Sam stopped short, then closed the boot lid, turning to look at the angel. "What? Why?"

"Because you are prepared. He is not."

"Hold on - are you _concerned_ about him, Cas?" Sam hazarded, surprised. "Afraid something will happen to your golden retriever?"

Castiel's head tilted to one side slowly and he assessed Sam's face with customary patience. "You are… displeased with your lot in life."

"I've been displeased with my lot in life since I started school and found out about how normal kids have moms," he shot back.

Castiel looked at the ground for a long moment. Then he looked up again. "You walk a precarious path, Sam. Take care not to fall from it."

"Thanks. I'll watch where I put my feet," he said with sarcasm.

"You should. And do not leave Dean alone with the demon."

"Yeah, you said that already. You scared your star quarterback is going to go Dark Side?" he snapped.

"I do not recognise fear," Castiel allowed with a tight frown. Then his face lightened slightly. "But 'trepidation' would be a good word right now."

Sam opened his mouth but stopped short, surprised. They looked at each other for a long, telling moment.

"Right," Sam allowed, nodding slightly. "Ok. I'll ah… I'll make sure he's not left alone with the demon then."

"I appreciate your co-operation," the angel nodded.

Sam smiled slightly. "You know, all this time spent whispering in corners with Dean, and you still speak like you haven't walked the Earth for a few thousand years."

"Before pulling your brother from Hell, I had not," he pointed out.

"Fair enough," Sam shrugged easily. "Next time, when you want to say 'I appreciate your co-operation', just say 'thanks, man'."

"If I were Dean, I would say 'whatever'. But as I am an angel of the Lord, I will say 'I shall take it under advisement'," he said slowly, his head tilting in what passed for amusement in the heavenly creature.

Sam grinned. "I think that was your second joke." He saw some kind of rapid movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head to see. Then he realised the angel had disappeared from the other corner of his eye.

"Sam!" came a voice from across the car park. "C'mon man, what you waiting for?"

Sam looked over to find Dean crossing the parking lot toward him. "Ah - just getting our stuff," he shrugged.

Dean eyed him as he reached the car. "Right. No secret conversations I should know about?"

"What? No," he said quickly.

"You sure Ruby's not hanging around somewhere? Cos I hate to say it, but she'd be useful right now - she'd know where the seal is."

"Good point," Sam allowed. He opened his mouth but Dean pointed an angry finger at him quickly.

"No. Just - no, Sam. We are not summoning her - oh no, wait, we're not _calling_ and begging that bitch for help."

"Dean!" Sam gasped, offended.

"Whut? She may be _your_ friend, she ain't mine," he grumped.

"I owe her--"

"Yeah, and ain't she just made you pay for it ever since!" Dean shot back hotly. "Just…" He took a deep breath, letting his anger subside. "Let's just get inside and find out what the girls have for us, ok?"

"Ok," Sam allowed, his eyebrows drawing together in a vengeful frown.

"And don't pull that face. It's for your own good, Sammy."

"Dean, I'm not five."

"Really? So quit throwing your toys out your stroller and let's get on with this," he snapped. "And anyway, if she _really_ wanted to help, she'd have been here by now, trying to get you in on this monkey bat gig. The fact that she hasn't makes me think she's staying away on purpose."

He turned and walked away, leaving Sam to pout at his hands in anger. He lifted the duffle and followed him into the motel, managing to let go of his frustration as they walked round to room 118.

Dean knocked loudly. "It's us," he announced.

The door opened and Moon looked at him. Her hair, previously in a neat pony tail, was now dishevelled and her face looked more than a little disturbed. Dean put his hands to her shoulders quickly.

"You alright?" he demanded.

"Yeah, I'm ok," she managed. "Me and Pamela have some information for you."

Dean eyed her for a long moment before letting his hands drop and walking past her. Sam nodded to her and walked in, closing the door behind him.

"What did you find?" Dean was asking.

Pamela waved a hand at Moon. "We went spirit-walking for monkey bats," she said brightly. "I was a big-ass black bird. It was fun. Kinda."

"I think I saw the next demon trying to kill bats," she allowed.

Sam moved to the free bed, sitting heavily. "You think?"

"Well, the last few times have been… unpleasant, sure. This time was… more so," Moon admitted quietly. She walked over and handed him a piece of paper. "The location. Where the next demon will be. It's all there," she said, not looking at him.

"Thanks." He nodded, patting her once on the shoulder as he got to his feet.

"Right. You two stay here," Dean advised. "There are devil's traps on the floor in front of the door and the window. There's even one on the wall behind the headboard. You get any whiff at all of something nasty coming to get you, you call us, you get me?"

"Oh, don't you worry about that," Pamela snorted. "I am not letting go of the re-dial button on her phone."

"Cool. Just sit tight. We'll be back soon," Dean said firmly. He turned and touched at Sam's elbow, gesturing him out of the room. Sam nodded at Moon and they walked out into the hallway.

Dean closed the door, hesitating before he looked up at his brother.

"Say it," he accused.

"What?" Sam asked quickly, surprised.

Dean turned away from him, walking down the corridor toward reception, and the exit.

"Tell me how asking Ruby would have been less painful than asking Moon to go through all that psychic seeing-over-distance looking-into-the-future nightmare-making crap," he snapped.

"She looked awful," Sam admitted.

"Yeah. I know," Dean grumped. "Well at least we got the location of the next demon. We won't need her to do any of that again."

"Hopefully," Sam put in. "Ah… Dean?" he asked quickly as they pushed their way out of the doors and into the cold night air.

"Whut?"

"Well, when we do find this demon, maybe I should talk to him."

"Why?"

"Cos… well, he might… He might tell me easier than you."

Dean stopped dead and looked at him. "Why, Sam? Hmm? Cos he's gonna fear your Diana Ross hand and Darth Vader-before-his-morning-coffee wrath?" he snapped.

"Yeah," Sam shrugged. "Might be easier for me to put the frighteners on him, if he thinks I'm this all-powerful demon killer. You see?" he asked, his eyebrows going through tortuous somersaults to persuade any witness that he was earnestly just trying to make things easier for everyone.

Dean sighed and looked away. "Yeah. You got a point," he allowed. "Ok."

"Ok. So where are we headed?" he asked himself, looking down at the paper in his hand. "A park? She thinks it's going to attack bats in a park?"

"Hey, she's been right before," Dean shrugged.

Sam looked up, his face looking detached for a long moment. When he didn't reply, his older brother looked up and frowned at him.

"Whut?"

"Nothing," Sam said quickly, shaking his head.

"No, c'mon, whut?" he pressed.

Sam huffed, prompting Dean to steel himself. "It's just… When we first met her, it was like… It was like she was this girl who had this psychic gift and was afraid to use it. And then… then crap happened and she came round to the idea. We meet up with her over a year later and she's turned into this… this…"

"This whut?" Dean asked carefully.

"This… well, this powerhouse of ability and… and she's not in any way remotely…" He huffed again, clearly unhappy with something. "She's not at all evil, is she?" he said deliberately, meeting his brother's eyes.

"Ok," Dean allowed, blinking in confusion.

"I mean… However her grandmother caused all this and made her what she is… She's still a good person. She's still… She's got this psychic ability and she's not going to go Dark Side," he finished edgily. "And maybe it's cos of you." _ So maybe, just maybe, you'll still be able to do it for me_.

Dean just eyed him for a silent moment. Then he pursed his lips, thinking. At last he looked away, running his tongue over his lower lip. "Am I supposed to know what you're talking about?" he asked quietly.

"You know what I'm talking about. What you did for her? What you gave up for her? Cos you thought it was right while we all just stood by letting it go wrong?" he stressed. "Maybe she got some sense of right and wrong from you."

"Hey, I was gonna die soon anyway, what did I care what happened to me?" Dean blustered, keeping his gaze averted.

Sam studied him, thinking. "Yeah," he agreed easily. "Yeah. I'm sure that's it." Then his thoughts ran on through his head with just a tiny shiny modicum of pride: _Yeah, my ass it was_.

Dean rubbed at his nose casually. _Yeah, my ass it was_, he realised. _But at least he doesn't know that_. He rubbed his hands together briskly. "So we finding this park or whut?"

They climbed into the Impala.

.

* * *

.

The car rumbled to a stop, Dean killing the engine and sitting back in the seat.

"So how we gonna do this?" he asked quietly, surveying the green lawn and well-placed trees in the darkness.

"Uh - gag him and bag him?" Sam offered.

Dean turned in his seat to stare at him as if he had suddenly grown three extra heads. Sam lifted his hand over the seat and kept his eyes on Dean's as he shoved his hand into his duffle. He brought out a roll of duct tape.

Dean began to smile. "I like it." He looked round out of his window again. "'Course, all we got to do now is get the jump on him."

"Let's hope he's only interested in bats," Sam ventured. He let the tape drop back into his duffle and sniffed.

"Check it out, perfect interrogation room," Dean said suddenly, gesturing out of the front windscreen with his chin. Sam looked over at the wooden hut with its single dark window and solid-looking door.

"Looks good. You want to prep it or shall I?" he asked. He hesitated, about to say more, but stopped himself.

"You do it. I want to see this demon arrive," Dean said quietly.

_As much of a pain in the ass that angel is, I did say I'd keep Dean away from the demon_, Sam worried. He thought for a moment. Then he blinked in sudden inspiration and looked over at his brother. "Cos you can't remember how to draw a devil's trap?"

"'Course I can, Sammy, shut up," he grumped.

"Really? Why else would you volunteer to keep an eye out?" he teased.

"I know exactly how to draw a devil's trap," Dean protested.

"Yeah? Well we'll have to take your word for that, won't we?" he grinned.

Dean turned and looked at them, then reached over into the back seat and snatched up his duffle.

"Keep watch," he grunted, squeaking the door open and climbing out of the Impala quickly.

Sam sat back, blew a slight sigh of relief, and turned his attention to the park out of the far driver's window.

Dean stole across the grass and to the hut, finding the sturdy door locked with not one but two padlocks. He tutted to himself, going through his duffle and pulling out his lock-picking tools. He shouldered the bag and got to work, chancing a look up and around the silent lawn. He had both locks open and was into the pitch hut quickly enough.

He looked to the small window, letting in a very slight trail of murky light, and then pulled his bag round his shoulder to rummage inside. He pulled out the small Mag-Lite and twisted it on.

He had time to gasp as the new piercing light described a form stood right in front of him.

"What are you doing in here?" the man cried angrily.

"Woah, hold on there, man," Dean said quickly, taking a step back and finding himself walking into tools hung on the wall. He bounced forward and they clattered to the floor noisily, making him grimace. "I'm just park security, I'm supposed to check--. How did you get in here when the door was padlocked from the out--?" He swore as he reached into the duffle quickly.

"Oh Dean, Dean, Dean," the man grinned, flicking out a hand.

Dean was lifted off his feet. He slammed into the wall, tools of all shapes and sizes pressing into his back. "You knew we were comin'?" he managed through teeth gritted in pain.

"Not at all. You surprised me," the demon admitted. He walked up to the Winchester pinned to the wall. His own brown hair fell over his black eyes and he put a hand up and swept it back, blinking and studying. "Something tells me you didn't know I'd be in here either."

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean spat. "What were you doing, fixing up some bat-trap?"

"Rodents. Vermin," the man sneered.

"Now you see - everyone gets that wrong," Dean grunted, straining against unseen bonds. His boots dangled a few feet from the floor. He redoubled his efforts to somehow work his way free. "Bats ain't rodents, they're mammals."

"Says you."

"Says Val Kilmer."

"Trying to keep me off-track? Whatever," the demon snorted. "I hate the _mammals_ almost as much as humans. But that's ok - there's only three of them left, and I will kill them."

"Yeah - about that," he managed, "Why you doing this? Did Lilith put you up to it?"

"Funnily enough, no," he said, putting his hand out slowly. He laid it flat against Dean's left knee. The hunter made an effort to jerk it free of the man's touch, but it wouldn't obey his commands. "What you're going to confirm is how you knew I'd be here tonight."

"Screw you, that's how I knew," Dean growled.

"Oh. I see," he said succinctly. He grasped the knee firmly and twisted. There was a tiny squelching sound and Dean's head snapped back as he gasped in pain.

"_You son of a bitch!_" he raged with equal anger and agony. The demon chuckled softly, taking a firm hold of the kneecap.

"Oh, I'm sorry - did that hurt?" he cooed. "Here, let me put it straight for you."

"Don't you touch m-- _Gaaaahh!_" he cried in agony, the man's hand twisting against at the kneecap. "I'll - I'll flay your - flay your _goddamn host open piece by piece till I find your blackened excuse for a Hell-bitch!_"

"Why, Dean," the man grinned. "How very vengeful of you! I like it!" He let his hand drop, then lifted it again. He held it out flat and Dean slid down the wall until his feet met the floor. "That's better. I've heard a lot about you. You know, you're taller in person."

"Are all - demons - short-asses?" Dean panted, his face screwed up in pain. He pulled and tugged but he was still stuck fast against the boards.

The demon's hand shot into Dean's left shoulder, grasping him firmly. "Just the angry ones," he smiled. "So tell me Dean, do you miss your time down there? Hmm? Cos I think you're just _itching_ to get carving again, aren't you?"

He began to squeeze, his fingers biting into Dean's shoulder like steel clamps. The Winchester clenched his mouth shut, his nostrils flared and working double-time to deal with the agony of the grip. The pressure continued and Dean felt his flesh giving, opening up under the slicing force crushing into it relentlessly. He grunted incoherent, guttural sounds of pain that travelled round the wooden hut.

"Come on Dean, scream for me," the demon hissed angrily. "Like they say you used to, down there. Like they say you did for so many years. Scream for _me_, just once."

Dean let out a slight whimper as he dragged in breath, his jaw firmly clamped shut.

"Come on, Dean, come on," he urged, crushing down ever harder. "I'll shatter that precious tattooed shoulder of yours," he breathed. "It's going to fracture like an egg, and there's nothing you can do about it." He felt his fingers meet resistance against bone and his grin widened. "Here we go. What do you say, Dean? You going to scream now, or wait till your shoulder is in a thousand pieces in my hand?"

Dean panted in air through his nose, his agonised eyes opening suddenly. He caught his breath, the sweat rolling from his temple as he let his lips open.

"_Screw_," he grunted, barely discernible from the wheezing breath he was forcing through vitriolic, clenched teeth, "_you_."

The demon's grin dropped. "Oh dear. This is not good. I was told you'd fold like a new sheet from the tumble dryer," he sighed. "Looks like you had time to strap on a pair since leaving Hell, eh?" He shook his head slowly. "Ah well. Say goodbye to your shoulder, Dean. You don't need it - you have another, right?"

He squeezed and Dean roared thickly in anger, lest he allow the pain to make him scream. His eyes shut down, his muscles trembled, his head filled with clouds of revenge and promises of pain against his attacker.

Suddenly he could no longer feel the pressure, as if it were gone. The existing pain hung over him, taunting him.

_This is the level_, he realised. _This is when it don't hurt any more cos it can't physically hurt much more than this_.

He felt himself falling. His head hit something hard and he opened his eyes in surprise.

Sam's boots were in his field of vision. He wondered in a detached why they were on the wall. Then he realised he himself was lying on his side on the floor. He watched Sam's boots move around. Time left him alone for a while as he contemplated the raging pain in his knee, in his shoulder, and now his head.

_Did I hurt ma head? Or is it the other kind of pain?_ he wondered idly. _Like… I-don't-like-it pain? Whut's that word… Shame?_

Something clapped against his exposed neck lightly, rolling his head backward and to his left. His gaze was shifted and he found his brother's worried face frowning down at him from somewhere above. His mouth was moving but someone had seen fit to mute the world, as if a monstrous remote control had been brought to bear on the night.

Sam's mouth kept moving, repeating the same pattern, but Dean's attention was hijacked by the pain. Sam's hand left his neck and jaw, and his head was allowed to rest back against the wall.

_Floor_, Dean corrected. _I'm on the floor_.

To say he watched his brother retreat from view would be to say that Dean acknowledged what Dean was doing and was exerting a conscious effort to make it happen. He was content to stare aimlessly around the dark patch of floorboards, lit only by the tiny fallen Mag-Lite. He watched the dust fall through the stream, felt Time sliding over his shoulder and knee, causing harsher pain. Brighter and angrier, bigger and deeper, the pain started to alert him to the fact that he was moving through Time too, not just watching it pass him by.

He felt a weak vibration in his throat, analysing it even as it continued, apparently without his help or coercion. He simply let it go on, oblivious.

Sam's boots came back into focus and he felt the warmth on his neck again. Brown hair flopped into Dean's field of vision and he blinked at it. There was a buzzing sound, very slight at first. Then it began to get louder, until eventually Dean recognised it as a voice. It sorted itself into words abruptly.

"Are you humming?" The sounds matched up with Sam's mouth perfectly. "Is that Billy Squier?"

Dean blinked and the vibration in his throat stopped. He found his mouth opening and his lips moved without his command.

"'Weird' doesn't even begin to cover it," Sam replied, relieved. "C'mon, man, you're leaking blood all over this hut. Let's get you up. Can you sit?" He grasped his elder brother's jacket over his untouched right shoulder and hauled him upright, leaning him back against the wooden wall.

And suddenly the universe went '_pop_'.

Dean saw and felt a definite ripple go through his head. Abruptly he could hear everything in the hut, could see everything the right way up, could place himself in the main attraction rather than being part of the disconnected audience. It made the pain worse.

He put a hand to his head slowly. "Where's the demon?" he managed, hearing his voice rough, pained.

"I got him in the trunk. He's gagged and bagged - and everything's covered in devil's traps," Sam grinned slyly.

"Super," Dean grunted.

"Ok, I'm not kidding about this blood, Dean. Let me look," he said, pulling at the jacket over his left shoulder.

Dean hissed and swore in renewed pain as Sam pulled the plaid shirt to one side. He pinched at the t-shirt carefully, lifting it from the mess of sliced flesh underneath.

"Woah - what the hell did he use, a garden rake?" he joked, but his face was pale, his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down in abject disgust at the sight in front of him.

The pain searing across his skin like fire, the white-hot tendrils of agony raking at raw feelings of rage against his own helplessness, Dean resolved to answer and at least appear able to control his own body, trembling with relief and suffering.

"Well it sure wasn't - wasn't - m- magic fingers," he managed breathlessly.

.

.

* * *

_  
_

_Actually posting this right now cos I'm waiting for the season four finale to start. And it's killing me._


	11. You've Lost That Loving Sealing

**ELEVEN**

**You've Lost That Loving Sealing**

.

.

Sam shifted his gaze to Dean's pained, sweating face before looking back at the bloodied tatters of t-shirt in his hand. He passed it to his left hand, making sure it didn't touch the ripped up fleshed of the shoulder underneath.

"Right, well…" he began. "You're about to lose your shirt."

"Figured," Dean managed painfully.

Sam pushed his brother's jacket and checked shirt off his shoulder quickly, letting them fall down his arm. He grasped the t-shirt and ripped it open from the collar, exposing the entire mass of injury. _Holy crap! How much does that hurt?_ he thought wildly. He sniffed and tried to appear unaffected.

"Dude, this is going to need stitches," he said calmly.

"Then do it," Dean grunted.

"I'll give you a shot for pain, first. The medkit's in the car. I'll be back," he allowed. He got up to go, but Dean's right hand came up and grabbed his jacket. He paused, looking round.

"I want to talk to him," he breathed.

"The demon? No! I can--"

"Sammy," he warned. "Not on your own. We'll talk to him together."

Sam looked him in the eye, the green clouded with pain and something else. He decided he didn't want to know what that something else might be, and simply nodded.

"Ok, alright," he said gently. "Don't move, don't touch it. I'll be right back." He regarded his brother's face for a moment longer, then got up and hurried out of the hut.

Dean sighed painfully, letting his boots slide out so that his raised knees fell to the floorboards. He felt in his right jeans pocket for his phone, trying to find the recent calls list. His fingers trembled and he gritted his teeth, willing them to stay still. But the screeching pain in his shoulder was making it impossible to command any fine motor control, and try as he might, he could not press a single button he needed. His fingers shook more violently and he cursed himself, trying again. But the phone suddenly squeezed out of his grip like a bar of soap and landed on the floorboards, just out of his reach.

He let his head fall back to the wall and he concentrated on breathing steadily against the pain.

He heard the door to the hut squeak and Sam was crossing the boards quickly. He crouched down, finding the phone.

"Who were you calling?" he asked, picking it up and handing it to his brother. He noticed Dean's hand shaking quite badly and guided it back onto his leg, the phone tumbling back to the floor by his side.

"Moon," Dean managed. "Could have been others. Was making sure they're ok."

"Dean, you're pissing blood and I know it hurts like Hell, and you're trying to call the girls?" he gasped. "Just wait two minutes."

"Right," he breathed, resting his head against the wall and letting his eyes close.

Sam delved into the duffle and brought out the box, rifling through as fast as his worried fingers would allow.

"_Crap_," he spat.

"Whut?" Dean croaked.

"We're out of the usual stuff. Going to have to use the fallback, the morphine."

"Magic word," Dean managed.

Sam yanked out the necessary equipment and briskly administered a mild dose of morphine. He relaxed slightly and looked around for the fallen Mag-Lite. He snatched it up and twisted it on, inspecting the wound properly and tutting to himself. He looked around for something to support the flashlight, then paused and looked at Dean.

"Can you hold this?" he asked doubtfully, waving the Mag-Lite in his brother's field of vision.

" 'Course I can," he grunted, with an effort to be defensive. He put his right hand up and took the torch, but his fingers could not grip without trembling. The Mag-Lite slipped from his hand and clattered to the floorboards. "Later," Dean managed.

"Well… I can't see properly to--." He turned and picked up the Mag-Lite, dusting it off before shoving the end in his mouth. He gripped it with his teeth as Dean sagged back against the wall more soundly.

"I'm - liking this," he breathed. "Now you can't - can't speak."

Sam's retort was completely obscured by the metal in his mouth and he sighed instead. He picked out the tools he needed and set about stitching the four gouges in his brother's shoulder. By the time he had finished the third trough, he noticed Dean's hands had stopped shaking. He paused to take the flashlight from his mouth. He passed it to his brother, who wiped the end soundly before pointing it at his shoulder.

"You know, this is going to ruin your angel tatt," Sam said lightly, hoping it came out as much of a joke as he meant it to be. "Now you'll have railroad white lines all over the red finger marks."

"Groovy," Dean grumped. He rolled his head round against the wall to look at Sam, sitting on his left side. "Hey."

"What?" he asked, cutting off the waxy surgical thread and starting the last, short gash.

"Thanks. For stopping him."

"Couldn't let you have all the fun," he managed tightly. "I'm sorry I goaded you into coming in here. It should have been me."

"If you're ok, it don't matter," Dean sniffed. "Any bats outside yet?"

"Not yet. Why?"

"Think he was waitin' for them," he said quietly. "We should get him out of here in case they arrive and can smell him through the traps on ma trunk."

"That's… a good point," Sam allowed. He finished off the last stitch, picking up the scissors and snipping it off soundly. He packed all the items back in the medkit, then picked up a cloth about the size of his hand. He unscrewed a bottle and doused the cloth in some very smelly antiseptic before slapping it to Dean's shoulder.

He jumped slightly. "You are so lucky I can't feel any pain right now," he warned, and Sam smiled.

"Shut up and wait for me to finish this." He wiped away all traces of blood and dust, throwing the cloth down and picking up a large sterile pad. He leaned forward and blew on Dean's stitches suddenly.

"Dude?" Dean protested, his face scrunched up in disgust.

"Just drying 'em off," he said innocently.

Dean dropped the torch into his lap and grabbed the sterile pad with his good right hand. He slapped it into Sam's hair over his temple harshly. Sam sat back on his heels, offended, to watch Dean pick up the torch and the pad in one hand, waving air at his stitches instead.

"Stanford brains," Dean tutted, inspecting the stitches as he felt the skin drying off coolly. "There. Now finish it up, Nurse Samantha."

"Ass," Sam accused, snatching the pad from him and ripping open the sterile sleeve. He peeled it back to position the pad over the area carefully, tipping a finger at Dean. He put his right hand on it gently while Sam found the tape and yanked off two lengths, anchoring it securely.

"Right, are we done?" Dean asked, shifting his hand under him to stand.

"Woah - wait a minute," Sam said quickly. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To move the demon so we can find a place to ask him a few questions, as per the plan we had earlier tonight, Sam."

"Alright but just… take it easy," he urged, getting to his feet.

Dean grabbed at the wall to help his wobbly ascent. Sam noticed the uncertainty in his frame and took his elbow.

"Get off me," Dean tutted. "I can do it."

"On morphine? Ok, fine," he said pointedly. Dean looked at him darkly, but then his eyes turned much less damning.

"I'll walk slow, ok? Let's just go."

"Ok. Give me the keys," Sam said with a smile.

Dean opened his mouth to protest, then just huffed and felt in his pocket for his Impala keys. "Here," he grumped. "And get my phone," he added, nodding to it on the floor.

Sam picked it up smartly, taking the keys and keeping a hold on his brother's right arm as they walked for the door of the hut.

.

* * *

.

Dean plonked himself down heavily, landing on the chair and letting out a long sigh of relief.

"You look like crap, even in clean clothes," the demon said maliciously, pulling slightly to test the ropes round his wrists. He looked down at the wooden chair under him, studying the red painted devil's trap beneath his boots.

"You look like you're in trouble," Dean said amiably. He put his hand under his left elbow and lifted his arm to a more comfortable position on the rickety table next to him.

"Where are we?" the demon demanded.

"Oh, you hear that, Sammy? He wants to know where we are," Dean smiled.

Sam came in through the door behind Dean's chair, wiping red spray paint from his hands with a cloth that reeked of turpentine. "Aw, that's nice. We could tell him," he offered.

"I could strip the flesh from your bones," the man said cheerfully.

"I don't think you could," Dean countered, just as cheerfully. "So. You gonna start sharing some information?"

"Like?"

"Like where the seal is," Sam said pointedly.

The man laughed abruptly. "You're looking for a seal? Have you tried Sea World?"

Dean leaned his head back and to the side, looking at his brother. "Sea World," he echoed with a meaningful, amused nod.

"Cute," Sam agreed. He walked to the table next to Dean, picking up the flask and unscrewing the lid. He wandered closer to the man. "We're all stocked up on cute. What we want from you is the location of the seal and how we break it."

"Easy - it's here in Paradox, right underneath that park I was in. And all you have to do is kill the last remaining Attellterron on the right surface. Oh, excuse me - monkey bats," he stressed.

"Kill the bats," Dean mused. "You must be confused," he added loudly. "You see, when he said 'seal', he meant the _other_ one. The one you're supposed to be keeping a secret - cos if we broke it, it would really screw up your plans for world demolition."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You know, I had this idea that maybe the two seals were the same thing, just opened in different ways. Kinda like…" Dean looked around the room, as if for inspiration. "Kinda like a shower faucet. Open it left, you get hot. Open it right, you get cold. Am I right?"

"Don't be stupid," the demon scoffed, and Sam grinned maliciously.

"Oh - ho, see that?" he chuckled over his shoulder to his brother. "I think you're right Dean, and he's upset about it."

"Think what you want," the man spat petulantly. Sam turned and raised his eyebrows at Dean, who smiled widely.

"I already do, but thanks," he said, taking his attention from his younger brother back to the man.

Sam tilted his head slightly. "So now we have the location, could you see your way to being a little more specific?"

"Oh, hold on, how do I explain this?" the demon said to himself. He looked up at Sam directly. "Get screwed."

"Now that's nasty," he tutted. "There's no need for that." He removed the lid from the flask and jerked a little water over his chest.

He writhed and hissed in pain, growling viciously.

"I'm sorry, did that hurt?" Sam cooed. "You gonna tell us where the exact seal is? Or shall I just drip this on you for the next few hours?"

"Do what you want," he grunted. "You got a few hours. Your girlfriends don't."

"Whut?" Dean snapped.

"Yeah, that's right. I know how you found out where I was. Your little plains-born indigenous psychic. And you must know I'm not alone," he grinned. "So while we wait here, wasting your time, a few friends of mine will be on their way to see what they can do about removing them from the picture."

Sam's hand jerked and half the flask of holy water ended up over the man's face and neck. He cried out as the water seared and burned.

Sam turned and walked back to the table. "We got to bring them here," he said quickly in low tones.

Dean's gaze was on the struggling, pained demon. "You go get them. I'll watch him," he breathed.

"Dean--"

"I can't drive, Sammy. I can't even stand up. I'm just going to watch him, alright?"

Sam fumed and stared down at him until he knew his brother could feel his gaze.

Dean turned his head slowly and looked up at him. "You really want to believe him and have us both rush off to get them? What if he's lying? What if he just wants us to leave him so he can try and escape?"

Sam opened his mouth, thinking. "And you're just going to watch him?"

"I am just going to watch him," Dean nodded.

Sam took a step back slowly. "Alright, fine. I'll be quick."

"Good."

Sam turned and raced from the room, closing the heavy metal door. The demon, recovering from the water attack, lifted his head and looked at Dean in the chair.

"Oh, FYI: this room?" Dean said helpfully. "It's made of iron. There's salt round the edges, too."

"Lovely," he spat. "So what do we do now? Now your chaperone's gone, are we gonna get it on or what?"

Dean's head tilted slightly and he gazed at the demon for a long moment. The demon shifted uncomfortably in his wooden chair. Dean continued to stare, as if weighing something up, his tongue sliding over his lower lip thoughtfully.

"I'm just here to watch you," he said slowly.

.

* * *

.

The drive was constant worry and urgency. Sam cranked the Impala up to sixty miles an hour, his knuckles tight on the wheel. The forty minute journey felt like a week and a half as the knowledge of what could be going down at either the departure or arrival places rattled round his head again and again.

_I better not be too late_, he repeated over and over in desperation. Then he had a sudden, dark thought: _For the girls? Or Dean?_

Finally he pulled up at the motel, barely remembering to stop the engine before he wanged the door open and ran full-pelt along the decking past the doors. He skidded to a halt at room 118 and hammered on the door.

"Moon! Pamela! It's me! It's Sam!" he called.

The door opened and Sam almost fell inward.

"You ok?" Moon gasped.

"Yeah - you?" Sam shot back, looking round the room.

"What is it?" Pamela asked, spooked. She pushed herself to the edge of the bed, ready to stand.

"Uh - everything looks ok," he said, making himself calm down. "Ok, ok, everyone's alright," he breathed. "Good. Fine. Ok."

"What?" Moon demanded.

"We have to leave," he said quickly. "Get your things."

Pamela shot off the bed, feeling her way to the other one and putting her hands out for her bag. Moon did the same, bundling her bag to her shoulder and looking at Sam.

"Something's coming for us, isn't it?" she dared.

"We're not sure. We… we trapped this demon earlier tonight. Dean's watching him now while I get you - he said others were coming here. We couldn't take the chance that he was lying." He put his hand out and took Pamela's shoulder gently. "Go with Moon, get in the car, I'll be there in a second," he said quickly.

"Don't have to tell me twice," she agreed, feeling Moon take her arm. They disappeared out of the door and into the night.

Sam went to the phone between the beds, turning round in a circle, checking they hadn't left anything behind.

"You left Dean alone with the demon?" said a spectacularly unimpressed voice. "Do you know how far away you have driven?"

Sam closed his eyes, willing himself to keep his temper. When he opened them, Castiel's head was poking in the doorway, his blue eyes inspecting the devil's trap on the carpet under his scuffed shoe.

"I had no choice," Sam said, tasting how lame it was even as it came out of his mouth.

"Get back there. Now," the angel advised.

"You'd better take off before Pamela knows you're here," he countered. "You're slowing me down."

He snatched up the room keys and headed for the door, knowing Castiel was already gone.

.

* * *

.

"You're just here to _watch_ me?" the demon teased. "Really?"

"That's whut I said," Dean replied tonelessly, his eyes flicking over the man in the chair with calculated precision.

"That's right, that's what you said. But you lied, didn't you, Dean?" the demon grinned. "I saw you, I saw your face. Your eyes positively _lit up_ when you lied about just watching me. You should be careful; lying was a sin last time I checked."

"Oh, so are we gonna share small talk now?" he asked mildly.

"What do you think?"

"I think you're supposed to tell me what you know."

"I think you're going to be disappointed."

Dean looked around the room, clapping his hands together and smiling cheerfully suddenly. "Aw screw it," he said with burning innocence. "You know whut? I really couldn't give a rat's ass _what_ you know." His chin came up and his eyes shone in the light from the single bulb hanging high over his head.

The demon regarded him for a long second in indecision. He watched Dean put his right hand to the arm of the chair, pushing himself up slowly.

"They say you have to perform three miracles to get considered for canonisation," Dean said conversationally, turning to the table next to him. He held onto his left elbow as he opened the duffle on the wooden surface.

"What's that?" the demon blurted, his eyes on Dean's left hand, delving into the bag.

"Getting made a saint," Dean nodded. "I'm guessing you don't have the same for demons? Like, you have to be guilty of three sins before you can become one."

"N-no, of course not," the demon gabbled nervously. Dean paused to look at him with a clear smile. Then he looked back down at the duffle, pulling his hand out to reveal the demon knife.

"Lying's a sin, right?" he asked earnestly. "I lied to Sam, yeah. I lied about not being able to stand. As you can see," he said grandly with a cheeky smile, letting go of his elbow to wave his hands out, "I can stand."

"Tell me Dean, what other sins have you committed today?" he sneered.

"Ooh, let's see… There was wrath," he said, "in the hut. I have to admit," he added with a warm smile, waving the tip of the knife at the demon in amusement, "there have been times I been angry. But I think this evening in the hut, with your fingers in my shoulder - damn, that had to have been the most burning feeling of wrath I ever had."

"I'm pleased for you," the demon managed.

"So that's two, right?" Dean went on cheerfully, holding onto his left elbow again to ease the ache in his shoulder somewhat. He looked at his watch, working out how much longer the shot of morphine would dampen the pain.

"Yeah. You gonna go for the triple?" the demon asked. "Go on, enlighten me."

"Pride," Dean said with a sad, rueful smile, shaking his head. "I can't help it, man. I am just too good at what I do."

"You mean trapping me here? You really think you're going to track down the seal and open it to release all your little bat friends on us demons?" he spat.

"No," Dean stated definitely, walking up to the edge of the circle. He let go of his left elbow again to bring the tip of the knife up to his face, studying the rather keen edge. "No. Alastair himself said it - I am good. I am very, _very_ good at what I do."

"Alastair? _That_ twisted bastard?" he asked, alarm going through his frame. He stiffened, watching Dean with sudden trepidation.

"Oh yeah. He is one sick puppy," he breathed, his eyes turning a dark gaze on the demon that made his mouth run dry. "And he taught me everything I know."

"Look, you can't scare me," he blustered. Dean took a step over the spray-painted circle of the devil's trap, twisting the knife slowly to catch the light.

"I ain't here to scare you," he said cheerfully. "In fact - that stuff Sam wanted about the actual location of the seal, and what we gotta do to open it? Don't even matter."

"Don't you touch me!" he snapped forcefully.

Dean tutted over and over, shaking his head slowly. He took another step forward and the demon jerked back. But Dean hesitated, thinking. Then he turned away, going back to his duffle. His hand went in slowly. The demon watched with tremendous trepidation as Dean pulled out a long length of thick cloth.

"Now, do me a kindness," he said politely, looking at it in his hand. "Hold still. I promise it won't hurt. Yet."

Dean walked back over. The demon sucked in breath through his nose and leaned back. Dean grasped the blade of the knife between his teeth firmly and walked around behind him. He slipped the cloth over the man's eyes and tied it tightly behind his head.

The physical world was abruptly yanked from his access and all he was left with was what he could smell around him. Automatically he fell back on the senses of a demon, and the world became so much darker. Suddenly he could feel the heartbeat of his human host, and then another, dark presence not so far from him. The swirling, oscillating feelings of revenge, vindictiveness, the need to hurt someone, they floated around him, warning him that the human with the knife was not, as he had originally hoped, bluffing.

"That's better," Dean said happily. The demon heard his boots, felt him walking back round to be in front of him. "Now that all you've got to go on is your bad Spidey-sense, let's have a little fun, shall we?" he breathed dangerously, walking round behind him.

The demon felt him come closer, knew his head was alongside his ear. He felt the sharp point of the knife go into his knee, felt it just resting, ready. The warm cloud of danger next to his ear drew in a breath.

"You can smell my soul from there, right? Nasty, ain't it?"

"I'm not telling you where it is! I'm not!" he called fearfully.

"Oh, I know," Dean said easily, a smile in his voice. The cloud of vengeance pulled back, standing clear. "You think I care? That's work stuff - _this_ we got right here? This is off-duty down-time, this is payback being a _bastard with a demon knife_," he stated coldly, clearly, firmly.

"You said you were just going to watch me!" he called desperately.

"And that weren't a lie - I am gonna watch you."

The demon caught his breath and held it fast, feeling the heat from the human's head close to his ear. The mass of intent, the seething, roiling bundle of anger bubbled to the surface, so close to his head. He started to sweat as the point of the blade started to weigh more heavily into his host's knee.

Dean's quiet, growled rumble thundered into his ear.

"I _am_ gonna watch you. Scream."

.

.

* * *

_Love me some Evil!Dean..._


	12. Seal Or No Seal

**TWELVE**

**Seal Or No Seal**

.

.

The scream lasted must longer this time. In fact, it went on longer than it took Dean to pull the knife free and shake the blood from it wearily. It went on and on as he turned away from the human shell bucking in agony and protest and wandered away. He ignored the harsh wail of pain and dropped the bloody knife to the table, concentrating instead on getting his own breath back.

The demon's breath ran out and the scream died. His head hung low, the borrowed body running with sweat, the ribcage pumping away with its need to fill the lungs. It was the only sound that filled the room for what felt like an eternity.

A ragged breath. Then the determination to force a mouth around a single word.

"Please."

The cloth over his eyes still blinded him to the room, but it was doing a grand job of sharpening his awareness of just where Dean's soul was - and how it was ready to keep going.

Dean turned on the spot and looked at him, surprised. "Aw, are we done already?" he moaned. "I was just getting started." He began to return and the demon started to shake.

"Y - yes," he breathed. "Please… yes," he whimpered. He felt the soul standing so close to him, inside the circle. He smelt the anger, the vindication. He knew something was coming. He braced himself.

But there was a tug on the cloth over his eyes. Another harsh yank and it was hauled away from his borrowed face, leaving the demon to blink around the room. The sensation of losing the acute smell and feel of the human soul was almost overwhelming. Suddenly he could take solace in the sights of the room, relying only on the weak eyes of a human to take in his torturer, rather than smell his every move with painful accuracy.

The relief was mind-numbing in its clarity.

Dean stepped back, tossing the cloth to the floor beyond the circle. He turned and walked back to his own chair, sitting gratefully. He swallowed, wiping a clean hand over his face and reaching for the small bottle in the duffle. He hissed and winced at the pain in his shoulder as he grasped the glass item and hauled it out. The demon looked up quickly.

"No! No! It's under the water! It's under the lake in the park!" he cried desperately.

"Whut is?" Dean blinked, surprised.

"The seal! The seal you want! It's under the lake!" he panted. "Just - just don't come near me again!"

"I don't care about some _seal_," Dean scoffed. "Thought I made that clear."

"Please - just stop!" he cried piteously.

"But this is fun, right?" Dean accused, slipping the bottle back under the flap of the duffle where it couldn't be seen. "You demonic Hell-bitches love a bit of torture. Should be just like home."

"You bastard," he coughed. "You… you screwed up, damaged piece of _filth_!" he hurled suddenly.

Dean tutted at him. "Hey, you get your jollies possessing people, usin' 'em to murder and screw stuff up. I just evict you. I don't make anyone do anything they don't wanna do. For example - have I asked you once to tell me anything about this seal business?"

There was a long silence, the man's mouth dripping blood slowly.

"Have I?" Dean called, his voice suddenly stern.

"No," the man whispered.

Dean nodded to himself as the man's head came up. "Although," Dean said thoughtfully, looking at the ceiling. "When Sam gets back here - he is really gonna be pissed when he finds out I didn't even ask you _once_."

"But I told you!" he cried.

"Whut? Sorry, must have tuned out for a second there," Dean smiled warmly. "You said a what about a who?"

The man spat blood from his lip, shaking his head. "I see why Alastair likes you," he breathed. "You're both _twisted sons of bitches_!"

He let his head drop, panting back some air. He heard fast movement and looked up. Into a mask of seething anger. He flinched as Dean pointed the blade at him.

"Don't you _ever_ talk about my mother like that," Dean threatened. He huffed and looked round the room suddenly, the knife falling to his side. "You see what you've gone and done?" he cried angrily. "You've made me angry!" He huffed out again through his nose, staring at the demon. "Now I gotta start over - and it was nearly all out of my system, too."

"Wait!" he wailed, as Dean lifted the knife. "Wait! What about Sam! You have to tell him something, right? You have to have information for him when he gets back!"

Dean paused, his eyes sliding to one side. The demon held his breath.

"Nah. I'll just tell him you wouldn't say anything - he'll believe me," he nodded, looking back at him and lifting the blade meaningfully.

"No! Wait! Wait!" he cried desperately. "For the love of Lucifer, just hear me out!"

Dean paused. "Well?"

"Look - Sam wants info on this seal, right? You don't give a shit, I know that - but if I tell you, and you tell Sam, it's gonna be harder for him to get pissed about all this. Right?" he pressed, anguished. "Right?"

Dean appeared to consider this. Then his face crumpled in clear annoyance. "_Damn_," he snapped, ostensibly to himself. "Yeah? So?" he demanded grudgingly.

"Look - look - I'll do you a deal," he gabbled.

"Is that supposed to be _funny_?" Dean demanded.

"No! Listen to me - I'll tell you everything you need to know - everything!" he pleaded.

"Why?"

"You scare the crap out of me, man," he whispered. "It's true. I'm not sitting here having you slice at me with that thing any more! I'll tell you everything Sam wants."

"And whut do I get out of it?" Dean demanded. "I'm not seeing a lot of enjoyment for me personally, if you get me."

"What do you want?

"Uh… let me see… World peace, some more morphine for ma shoulder, a new carburettor… and… ooh, let me think," he sighed, looking at the ceiling. "Oh yeah," he began harshly, looking back down at him, "you _screaming for mercy_."

The demon swallowed as Dean's eyes held him fast. He stared into the jade orbs of hatred and power, and before he knew it, he was leaning back into the chair with all his being.

"Please," he whispered. Dean's eyebrows raised in patently bemused disbelief. The demon yanked in a breath. "Please… no more. Please!"

Dean's eyes ran over his face as if he had found him scratching the bonnet of his Impala. His lip curled slightly.

"Dean - _please_! Look, kill me if you want - if it's the only way you'll stop with the knife, do it! Please!"

Dean continued to stare, but his granite condemnation turned slowly into a grating, unctuous smile.

"Are you _begging_ me?" he oiled.

"I'm begging you!" the demon pleaded. "I'll tell you everything!"

"I don't care about--"

"_I'll do anything!_"

Dean continued to stare. The demon let his head hang, afraid to stay a moment longer in the deep green wells of hatred and disgust.

"Y'know… I really don't want you to tell me a goddamned thing," Dean sighed, lifting the knife and tapping the side of the blade against his temple in thought. "But it's Sammy. He'll come back here and… well, he'll piss and moan about me not accomplishing anything, how I'm shitting bricks over demons that _scare_ me…"

The demon looked up. "Dean, listen to me… I can _help_ you," he breathed slowly.

"How's that?"

"You can give Sam information. He'll let all this torture slide if you can show him the goods." He spat blood from his lip quickly, concentrating on the look of indecision on Dean's face. "You know he'll be easier to handle if you get the facts he needs from me. You know I'm right."

Dean huffed, a long, frustrated affair.

"I could just keep going. When he gets back, he'll see me carving you up and he'll know I'm doing my best anyway - and that I ain't afraid of no demon," he added, eyeing the man in the chair.

"But I can tell you what he wants to know! You won't have to carve any more!"

Dean's upper lip curled to one side in a brooding, evil approximation of a smile. He stepped closer to the man, bending at the waist, his hands just above his knees to take the weight. His eyes fastened on the demon's with a darkness he had never before seen in a living human.

"But I _enjoy it_," Dean breathed.

The demon screwed his eyes shut, biting down on his lip to control his whimper of fear. He felt the warmth of Dean's head move away, smelt his soul retreating from the circle.

"What can I do to stop you?" he whispered.

He heard Dean's boots on the stone floor and opened his eyes, finding him standing just outside the circle, his right hand supporting his left elbow heavily, the knife dripping slowly by his side.

"Oh, I don't think there's a _damn thing_ you can do to stop me," the Winchester grinned.

The high light cast dark shadows over his eye sockets and the slight clefts under his cheekbones. He let his head tip down slightly and the shadows drew out longer, as if reaching forward to envelope the demon in the human's Stygian will.

"The blood of an innocent man," the demon said quietly, in a very controlled manner.

"Whut?" Dean barked, leaning closer as if to hear more clearly.

"Take the blood of an innocent man. Douse a silver knife in it. Then…" He paused, wiping his tongue at his bloodied lips. "Use it to cut the large brick at the bottom of the lake in the park," he admitted slowly. "That's it. That's the Atellterron's seal."

Dean sneered. "Innocent man's blood on a knife, slice open a brick? Are you shittin' me? You really have to try to think of something more convincing than that old chestnut," he winked maliciously, with a terrifying tilt of the head that spoke volumes. He put his boot over the devil's trap.

"No no no - the brick from the bottom of the lake!" the demon gabbled. "It's a special brick! You'll understand when you see it!"

"Riiiight," Dean announced scathingly. But his boot stopped. "I don't know why I let you talk me into this," he accused. "When I tell Sam this, he's gonna think you're lying. Hell, _I_ think you're lying. And I don't see the fun in this for me."

"Dean--"

"So you'll forgive me if I go ahead and tattoo a nice pattern on that borrowed corpse of yours anyway? It's what I've been waiting for, after all," he growled. He stepped right into the devil's trap, advancing on the chair.

"No! Stop! Stop!" he pleaded. "Just knife me and be done with it! Kill me first! Kill me first!"

Dean hesitated.

"Why?"

"Cos if I'm alive Sam won't believe you really got the truth out of me!"

Dean took a slight step back. _Really?_ He appraised the demon slowly. "You think so?" he asked quietly.

The demon lifted his head. "I think so," he panted in fear. "I _know_ so."

Dean appeared to wrestle with himself for a long few seconds. Then he blinked, shaking his head in frustration.

"_Family_, man," he tutted, turning away and going to his chair. "A royal pain in the ass."

His torturer folded back into the chair to scrub a hand through his hair wearily. The demon watched, feeling a wave of relief even through the bonds cutting into his wrists. He let his head loll over the backrest of the chair, breathing in deep lungfuls of relaxation.

Dean watched him, his eyes hard, resentful. Eventually, the demon looked up and over at him.

"This has been some evening, huh?" Dean allowed quietly.

The demon watched, dumbfounded, as Dean put his hand under the flap of the duffle and retrieved the bottle.

"Oh, hey, come on, I told you! I told you everything I--"

"And I am very grateful, believe me," Dean sighed. He turned the bottle round to reveal it was in fact just whisky. "You want some?"

The demon just stared, then he began to shake his head in disbelief. "Why not?" he shrugged, past caring.

Dean unscrewed the top and got in two very long sips before he rifled through the bag and found a silver dish for smelting. He sniffed at it and then tipped some whisky into the vessel. He got to his feet with an effort, sliding his impossibly heavy boots across the floor. He stepped over the spray-painted trap carefully.

The demon looked up at him, taking in the sudden and abrupt weariness, the shuffling of the human's boots, the reluctance to look him anywhere near the eye. He found it odd that, for a moment, just a moment, as Dean leaned to bring the cup to his mouth, the human's hand shook slightly.

He tilted his head to the side, finding the green eyes carefully averted. The demon felt a shuddering, painful flash of inspiration as he slowly leaned into the cup, tasting at the whisky. He continued to watch the human from the corner of his eye. Dean kept his gaze ranging anywhere the demon was not, confirming the demon's suspicions admirably. He chugged the rest of the alcohol down in one go, watching Dean as best he could over the rim of the makeshift cup. Dean waited until it was empty before pulling it away.

"Tell me Dean," he said quietly, as the human backed away. The demon noticed how quickly he managed to get clear of the circle for someone who had just put the fear of charmed steel into a demonic soul.

"Whut?" he grumped, his back to the demon.

"Did you really enjoy seeing me squirm?"

Dean was silent for a long moment, his wide shoulders still facing the demon.

"You have no idea," he breathed.

"Hah," the demon nodded, letting his head roll back on his borrowed neck, thinking it through. "Nah. I think… You know what I think?"

"Han Solo shot first?" Dean said cheerfully. He shuffled back to the table, putting his hand to the duffle and slapping the top closed.

"All that anger, all that fury - and you didn't enjoy this evening one little bit, did you?"

Dean didn't answer, his back to him resolutely.

"Well I'll be--. You played me! You _played_ me!" the demon gasped. Then he started to laugh at the absurdity. "You were good, man! All that shit about not caring about the seal - you are the man!"

Dean turned slowly, his face dark and bitter. "We all do what we have to."

The demon's laughter calmed as he looked at him closely. "Yeah. I guess we do," he allowed. "You really had me going though, man. I thought you were Lilith in a new meat suit for a while back there."

"Glad I did her justice."

"Oh, Dean - if there was an Oscar for Best Intimidation and Torture of a Demon, then you just got put on the nomination list," he breathed.

"Thanks," he replied, surprised. There was an abrupt moment of indecision. Then the two of them began to chuckle at the risibility of a demon and a human seeing into the other's soul and finding the same seething darkness.

Dean walked back to the table slowly. He refilled the cup with a little more whisky, taking a giant swig from the bottle himself before stumbling over again. He held it out and the demon took several controlled sips this time, until it was all gone.

"Tell you whut, now you don't have a chance in Hell - sorry, habit - of stopping us now," Dean said easily, "I'll just send you home. You'll live to possess another day."

"Really? Why would you do that?"

Dean didn't answer. The demon looked at him for a long moment, assessing the guilt and horror battling for control of the human's soul. He nodded slowly.

"Ok. I get it," the demon allowed. "This is cos you feel bad for going - what it is Sam calls it? 'Dark Side'."

"Not even close," Dean said cheerfully, and the demon felt a familiar cold breeze stroke up his borrowed spine. "It's cos I know that if I kill you, you're off the hook. But if you go back home--"

"I'll be tortured by Alastair!" he realised. "You never had any intention of killing me! You're sending me back down there so I get tortured for eternity? You… lying, treacherous, evil son of--." He stopped short, beginning to chuckle suddenly.

"Whut?" Dean dared.

"You really should be working for our side. You're wasted here."

"I ain't your Dark Side servant," Dean spat.

"Oh really? You think you didn't cross a line this evening?"

Dean eyed him suspiciously. He didn't even open his mouth. He didn't have to.

"Well you did for a moment," the demon smiled. "Lots of tiny moments. Every time you slid the knife in."

"It's still me."

"Is it, Dean? Really?" he sighed sympathetically, his head tilting to one side. "Come now. A year ago, you never would have done this to a demon. Would you? You wouldn't have enjoyed it like you did today."

"I didn't enjoy it today."

"You didn't?"

"No. I'm just the world's greatest living actor," Dean breathed.

"And that's what we'll keep telling ourselves," the demon confirmed with a knowing nod.

Dean retreated to the table and chair, putting his right hand out and lowering himself into it carefully. He hissed in pain as he sat back and took another long sip of whisky.

"You want to know something strange?" the demon offered quietly.

"Dude, my whole life is something strange," Dean allowed with a wry smile.

"I actually kinda like you, Dean Winchester," he nodded, looking up slowly to see him and his reaction.

But the human just lifted his eyebrows in abject sarcasm. "Wow, thanks."

"No, I mean it. Most humans are… an annoyance. I thought you would be… like a bug, a toy, something I could have fun torturing as I pulled its wings off, one by one."

"Oh. Well, again, thanks," he said, blinking in surprise.

"But you're much more interesting than I could have imagined. And Alastair, the freaky boss I always shied away from, well he was right about you. You do learn fast. And you adapt fast. I'm quite impressed. For a human, you're actually not bad," he smiled earnestly.

"I cannot describe how skeeved out I am to hear that, man," Dean said cheerfully, and they shared another chuckle. "You know, in a different life…"

"What?" he dared with a cheeky grin.

"I think I would still be exorcising your ass," he finished. The demon laughed, nodding, and Dean chuckled at the idea, taking another swig of whisky. "So then, looks like our time's up. I gotta tell you, it has not been fun."

"Oh Dean," he said knowingly, "we both know neither one of us wanted to be here tonight. But at least I have the satisfaction of knowing you'll turn out just like me one day. Not because you'll end up in Hell again or cos something will happen to make you turn demon."

"Then why?" he asked quietly, unsure.

"You really want to know?"

Dean shrugged his one good shoulder, as if it should be obvious.

"Alright then," the demon smiled. "Because you were always _a - horror - of - a - human - being_," he annunciated clearly. "Right from the time you sat on the hood of your dad's car, watching your house burn down with your mother inside, holding onto your daddy's arm so very tightly. And what did you say to yourself, Dean? What did little Dean promise himself?"

Dean swallowed but his mouth remained shut.

"You promised you'd find out who caused it. And you wouldn't even care why - you'd find anyone or anything that was that responsible and you'd make them _go away_. Not really appropriate thoughts for a four-year-old, now are they?" he waited, smiling maliciously.

"Nearly five," Dean growled, but there was something lacking in his retort.

The demon snorted in amusement, his eyes mocking the human for his attempt at deflection. And he knew the human saw it too. He waited. _This is where you knife me anyway. Come on then, you sorry excuse for a fallen human. Do it. Set me free_.

But Dean simply shook his head with a bemused smile. "Now don't go ruining the moment," he warned, pointing with a finger from his bottle. "Let me just get my little demon-spotter's book of Latin, and we'll have you home before you can say '_well honk my hooter, Metallica have a new album out_'."

The demon's malicious smile evaporated. "See? And you said you didn't enjoy torture," he accused quietly, but the bravado was running distinctly thin. "You could still just kill me."

"I think I'll just send you back where you belong." Dean refused to look at him as he put the bottle back on the table and put his hand in the duffle.

The iron door crashed open behind him and Sam flew in. He looked at Dean in the chair, his eyes going to the half-empty bottle of whisky on the table. He turned and looked in horror at the demon still tied to the chair, his face and shirt soaked in sweat, the bloody entry wounds on his stomach and chest, the weariness with which he let himself sag in his restraints.

"Oh, er, hey Sam," Dean managed as his brother looked at him in shock.

"Dean! What did you do!"

"I got the location and instructions for opening the seal," Dean said politely, picking up the whisky bottle. "Did you get the girls?"

"They're in--. What the _hell_, man?" he cried indignantly. "You said you were just going to watch him!"

"And I did. I got the information we wanted, too."

"How can you trust him? He's a demon!" he snapped.

"Woah woah woah - you are the _last_ person allowed to warn _me_ about trusting _demons_!" Dean shot back.

"Poor Sammy Winchester," the demon breathed painfully. "Looks like Dean is the stronger one after all. You just don't like that, do you?" he teased. "It'd be nice if Dean collapsed in a teary little ball of emo so you could pick up the mantle and be the new hero, right?"

"Shut up," Sam warned, his face dark.

"Or what? You'll use your nasty, dirty powers to burn me from this body? You're too late, sonny, I already secured myself a way out," he grinned maliciously, winking.

Sam looked back at Dean. "What did you promise him?"

"Hey, don't you--"

"_What did you promise him!_" Sam roared.

Dean's hand slammed the bottle back down on the table firmly, sloshing some over the lip. "I'm sending him back to Hell, alright?" he cried angrily.

"Are you," Sam accused flatly. "You making deals with demons again now?"

"No, I ain't - and I don't bang 'em like they're some second-rate porn actress with dysfunctional Jedi skills, neither!" he shot back.

Sam fumed and the two brothers stared each other out.

"Don't worry Sam, just remember your daddy's probably watching right now." The demon looked up to the ceiling, grinning madly. "He'd understand what Dean did. He would. Cos he would have done it too - I know, I met him in Hell once. But your mother, Sam. What about her? What would she think of all this?"

"You shut up about our mother," Sam seethed, looking over at him with hatred.

"Oooh, see that look, Dean? See the wrath? Nasty," he grinned, shivering theatrically. "Tell me Sam - if dear old Mary walked in right now, what would you say to her?"

Sam snatched up the demon knife from the table. "Look Ma!"

"_Sam!_" Dean barked.

"No hands!" Sam finished.

He hurled the knife. It thunked into the demon's heart with a satisfying squelch that Sam felt right through his nervous system.

The demon gasped and cried out, jerking with little demonic flashes before he simply sagged in the chair.

Sam felt the adrenaline pumping through him and took a deep breath, making himself calm down. He walked over and slurped the knife free of the body slowly, turning to find Dean staring at him.

"What? He's a demon, Dean. You said it yourself - they want us dead, and we want them dead! So he's dead."

"Well don't stop there - last time I checked Ruby was still a demon too!" Dean growled. Sam opened his mouth but Dean put his right hand up swiftly, waving it to prevent any more pithy come-backs. "I'm not doing this after the night I've had. _You_ killed it, _you_ clean it up."

"Fine," Sam snapped.

He watched as his elder brother pushed on the arm of the chair to get up. He got halfway before he ran out of strength and simply sank back into the seat again. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse word before he tried again. He managed to get to his feet but grasped at the table to steady himself.

Sam felt a slight pang of guilt go through him as realised his brother was on the brink of exhaustion. Dean turned to the door, holding his elbow, then paused. He turned back to Sam and the cadaver in the devil's trap.

"Make yourself useful," he grumped. "Get some of his blood. Enough to coat one of them silver blades we got in the trunk."

"What? Why?" Sam asked quickly.

"Cos we need it to break a seal, Sam," he sighed, turning away and stumbling toward the door.

"From him? Isn't that a little… callous?"

Dean stopped dead, his back to his younger brother. His face went from incredulous to amused in a split-second. Then he let his head drop, shaking it at his feet.

"It's recycling. Now do it."

.

.

* * *

.

_My very favourite chapter!_


	13. Navy SEALs

**THIRTEEN**

**Navy SEALs**

.

.

Sam and Dean piled into the Impala just as the sun started to eke out a little glow above the large iron hangar. Dean all but collapsed into the passenger side with an unimpressed grunt that told Sam all he needed to know about his state of mind.

Sam slid the keys into the ignition, looking over the back seat. "You girls ok?"

"Cold. A little freaked out. This place makes some strange noises at night," Pamela admitted. "Dean? How you doing over there?"

"I'll live," he ground out, grasping his left elbow and holding it close to him.

"Are you hurt?" Moon gasped. She noticed he didn't move, didn't protest. She shifted to the edge of the seat. "Dean? Are you hurt?"

"Start the car, Sam," Dean grumbled, his eyes on the dashboard.

Sam twisted the key and the car roared into life. "We should hole up - it's just about dawn," he pointed out. "We all need rest."

"We need to find this brick so we can stop worrying about the _bad_ seal getting cracked open," Dean groused.

Sam was not the only one to hear the lethargic slur to his words. Moon's eyes ran over the elder Winchester's profile slowly. She was tempted to open up the walls and suck in all of his feelings, to find out exactly what was causing him to avoid everyone's attention. But something held her back.

She cleared her throat. "You need some sleep, _Shupshe_. We all do."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead," he grumped, and Moon opened her mouth again. But Pamela leaned over and found her shoulder, pulling her back to rest against the rear seat. Moon looked at the older woman. She said nothing, but the slight tilt to Pamela's head told the younger girl it was better not to get involved.

Sam spun the wheels and pulled away from the deserted railway station house, checking his mirrors and joining the main road. He took off right, getting settled into the seat.

There was nothing but the rumble of the Impala for a few miles.

"So I take it you got all we need to know from this demon?" Pamela asked eventually.

Sam waited but Dean didn't answer. He looked over to find his brother was out for the count, his head against the glass. Whether it was due to sleep or simply passing out, he wasn't sure.

"Uh - yeah," Sam supplied quickly. "Dean got it all. I'm thinking maybe when we've had some rest we can come up with a game plan."

"I like your thinking," Pamela agreed. "Nearest motel is fine with me."

It was forty minutes before Sam pulled off the highway and booked them into one large room. Suddenly in dire need of being able to keep an eye on everyone at once, he didn't even push the fact that it only came with two large beds.

He helped the girls carry in the duffles and arrange themselves in the room. Moon and Pamela agreed to share the largest bed, and Sam threw a pillow and a few blankets on the floor as they got themselves prepared for a damn good sleep.

Sam went back out to the car. He opened the passenger door and leaned over, nudging his brother. Dean snorted something unintelligible and blinked open a single eye.

"Motel," Sam said by way of explanation, standing back from the car.

Dean pushed himself up with one hand, aiming for the doorframe. He slid out but lost his balance, and only Sam's firm grip prevented Dean's face from finding out exactly how deep the mud was by the front near-side tyre.

"This way," Sam allowed. He grasped his brother's right arm and pulled it over his taller shoulders, stooping to grab onto the jacket over his brother's back. He walked them into the motel, realising how heavy Dean apparently found his boots.

His brother's eyes were already half-closed, the arm round his shoulders trembling in fatigue as Sam guided him into the motel room. He closed the door with his foot, walking him to the nearest bed and sitting him down.

"How bad is it?" Moon dared, her eyes wide.

"He'll be fine," Sam announced bravely. "Won't you?" he added briskly to the barely-conscious brother.

Dean simply grunted, pulling at his jacket. Sam removed his boots for him, but then the older sibling pushed him free of him somewhat irritably. He pulled off his jacket as Sam stood, backing away. Dean fought with the jeans and eventually left them, and the socks the trousers had captured on their way off, in a pile at the side of the bed. He fell to the soft mattress and was content to roll onto his right side with the energetic purpose of a listing ship. His left arm slipped down and he rested his right hand up on the elbow. He didn't even shift his head to a pillow. He simply took a deep breath. By the time it was out again, he was already comfortably unconscious.

Sam looked down at him for a long moment in thought. Then he leaned over and grabbed the blankets, pulling them over his big brother slowly. He caught Moon's eye as he stood.

"What happened?" she whispered.

"Not now," Sam advised heavily. Moon nodded, climbing back into the large bed. But Pamela, on the far side, rolled onto her back and her ears perked up. She put her elbows under her.

"Are all his clothes on the floor?" she asked, unsure.

"Mostly," Moon admitted.

"Christ on a stick! Is he _naked_ over there?" she asked quickly.

Moon was unable to stop a small smile. "No."

"_Damn!_" Pamela cursed as she turned her back to Moon and settled down again. "Another opportunity for vicarious thrills _ruined_."

.

* * *

.

Dean felt something grasping and clawing at his shoulder and grunted in protest. It continued, with fresh pain shooting through his skin, making him squirm and swear under his breath.

His eyes shot open and he found a motel ceiling watching him in disgust. It looked down both _on_ him and _at_ him, shaking its head and tutting at his physical state. He pushed himself up slowly to sit, finding a rather too-used t-shirt and a pair of shorts his only defence against the cool air of the room. He looked around, confused at the sight of all of his blankets on the floor.

Bright afternoon daylight was trying to stream in through the far window, but due to some perverse need to take pity on the room occupants, coupled with the thickness of the curtains, it was having a decidedly bad time of getting much light in at all. Dean's bleary gaze took in two forms in the other bed, the hair leading him to believe it was the two girls.

One eyebrow raised all by itself until the pain in his shoulder and the crick in his back told him something big and ugly had happened before he had slept.

He looked at his shoulder, lifting the t-shirt to see a bright white patch underneath. It was patterned in tiny red spots from the inside out, and put a hand up to cover it. The extra pain slapped him for thinking that actually _pressing_ on a wound would be a good idea, and he let it go with a hiss. He rubbed his eyes and looked around the floor, spying two huge feet sticking out from behind the girls' bed.

He swung his feet to the floor and pushed himself up to stand. He hissed as his left knee gave under the weight, the stiffness in its movements warning him something big must have happened to it the night before. He sat down again and looked at it, finding it a glorious rainbow of blues, purples, reds and yellows, all around the kneecap.

"Jinkies," he sighed wearily, wiping his face. He stood again, compensating for the stiff knee, and crept round the bed to find Sam stretched out on the carpet. Dean paused.

_Man, does he ever look like a huge sentry dog_, he thought.

Then he shook his head and went for his brother's duffle. He rummaged through it until he found the medkit. He took it back to his bed, flumping down and opening it up, his shoulder screaming at the movement it was put through. He looked through the assortment of tiny bottles, new needles in sterile wrappers, tins and tubes of cream, rolls of bandages, and suddenly could not raise the impetus to judge what he needed.

_Suddenly I really could not care_, he sighed. _One day I'd like someone else to take care of it for a change._

There was a slight rustle of sheets and blankets. "Need some help?" came a whisper.

He looked over at the other bed to find Moon's eyes open and watching him.

"Wouldn't say no," he whispered back.

She smiled and pulled back the blankets carefully, making sure Pamela was still asleep on the far side of the bed. She tiptoed over and nudged at his good shoulder, motioning him across his bed. He shifted over and she sat on the edge, her impossibly long Rush t-shirt making him smile.

She took the box from him and rifled through it. "You doing important stuff today?" she whispered.

"Oh yeah."

"Then you don't want any more morphine," she advised.

"Sam said that was all that was left yesterday," he whispered.

"Then Sam needs to learn to read," she shrugged, pulling out a tiny bottle. "Local anaesthetic. That'll do for… four, five hours?"

"Super," he allowed.

She spared him an amused glance as she sorted through for a needle, cracking the sterile packaging open and applying it to the drum of the syringe. She stabbed it through the foil, lifting it to check the amount she was sucking into the drum.

She removed the needle and pressed the plunger slightly to rid it of air bubbles. She got up and walked around his bed, sitting on the other side and pulling at the sleeve of the t-shirt. He took it from her and hauled it out of her way. She paused at the white pad and for a second she looked undecided.

"This is dirty," she managed.

"They do tend to get that way."

She raised her eyebrows at him, then put down the syringe carefully. She turned back to him and grasped at the hem of his t-shirt.

"Hey," he protested. "I got a rule - no chick whips my clothes off if Sam's in the room."

She grinned and tugged at it anyway, helping him to pull it off over his head. His shoulder was stiff with pain and protest as he let her take it from him, throwing it to the bed behind. She put her hand to his arm, guiding it down slowly, taking some of the weight. He didn't look at her and she saw only too well the determined clench to his jaw.

She cleared her throat and put her hands to the tape over his collarbone. She eased it up and looked underneath the pad.

"Nice. That demon do this to you?"

"Yeah."

"Hope you kicked his ass," she grumped, looking up at him.

"As good as."

"Good," she affirmed. She peeled the white pad away to reveal to the carnage underneath, held together with rather too practised stitches in neat rows. "Sam do this?"

"Yup."

"Nice. Very girlie," she teased. Dean let a small smile out and she tossed the bloodied pad to the bed. He was watching her fingers but she put her left hand out to his chin, turning his head away.

She sniffed and administered the dose slowly, before sitting back. "There. Give it a few minutes, it'll all just float away."

"Thanks."

She took up the wrapper for the needle and bound it around the syringe, picking up the pad too, careful not to touch the soiled areas. She went to the table between the beds, picking up a plastic laundry bag and placing it all inside. She bundled it all up and went to the bin, throwing it all in. She looked back at him.

"You going to try and sleep now?"

"No," Dean admitted, getting to his feet and going to the tiny coffee machine on the desk above Sam's prone form. "We got stuff to do."

"You got to get a shower first - or at least a wash. You stink," she smiled.

"Thanks," he grinned, carrying the empty coffee jug to the sink and filling it with water.

"Go. I'll fix you a new bandage when you're dry."

.

* * *

.

Dean pulled the Impala up in the gravel, looking out of his window to the park's green grass.

"There's something not right about all this," he mused, pushing the old girl into Park and killing the engine.

"What?" Sam asked, already reaching over the seat to fetch his duffle.

"Well… Why do we have to find some brick and cut it open with a knife covered in human blood to open the good side of the seal? I mean, these spider monkey bat things don't have knives. How are _they_ going to open it if they do find it?"

Sam paused, thinking. "You know, that's a good question," he allowed, surprised.

Dean turned to look at him. "And?"

"And… it wouldn't be that hard," Sam shrugged. "They just have to locate it, then scratch it open while raking up some human over it."

"Nice," Dean tutted. "But they have to use silver. Which they can't touch - why does it have to be a silver knife if silver kills the monkey bats too?"

"Maybe so they can't open it themselves."

"Good point. You notice how these seal things always involve human sacrifices?"

"Human blood is a great place to hide all kindsa crap," Sam mumbled, sounding pre-occupied.

Dean just blinked at him before shaking his head and turning to look out of his window. He raised his wrist. "Well we'll start to lose light in an hour."

"Don't blame me, you're the one who went back to bed after two bottles of water and a doughnut," Sam muttered, mostly to himself.

"I was recuperatin'," Dean pointed out defensively. "Besides, you were researching and hiding the girls in - where was it again?"

"The library basement," Sam sighed. "They're officially researching the entire history of Paradox."

"Wow. And the librarians fell for that one, did they? Pamela covering the Braille section all by herself?"

Sam huffed at him. "The old girl there was only too pleased to help - and I said Moon was Pamela's personal assistant."

"And why the library again? Apart from the obvious love you have for musty, stinkin' reference books all piled up on top of each other. Or is it the thought of all that leather?"

"It's because the library basement is iron-clad - literally," Sam informed him petulantly. "The girls will seal themselves behind some salt too for good measure and we'll know they're safe for the time being."

"Oh. That's… pretty good," Dean admitted.

"Thanks," he bit out sourly. Then he stopped short. "Wait a minute."

"Whut?"

"How are we going to get a brick from the bottom of a la--. Dean, you are _not_ making me swim down there!" he protested.

Dean turned an innocent expression of regret on his younger sibling. "Well, it's like this, Sammy," he said sadly. "I got these holes in ma shoulder? And they got like, stitches in 'em? And well, I can't really dive in some dirty lake and fish out some--"

"You're a jerk," Sam snapped, turning to his door and flinging it open.

"Hey, it's just like skinny-dipping," Dean called after him. "Don't worry, I won't look!"

Sam slammed the door and disappeared from the side of the car. Dean chuckled to himself before he put his left hand out to open his own exit. His shoulder twinged and he hissed in abrupt pain, grabbing his elbow to relieve some weight. He cursed something and let go of his elbow to open the car door with his right hand. He pushed it open wide with his foot, getting out and knocking it with his behind to close it.

He looked up to find Sam already stalking across the grass, aiming for the edge of the lake.

"You know I'd do it if I could!" Dean called helpfully.

Sam simply lifted an arm to show his right hand over his shoulder. The singular raised middle digit told Dean all he needed to know about his baby brother's enthusiasm for diving in cold lakes. He smiled slightly, sniffing to himself before grasping his elbow and following.

.

* * *

.

Sam's head broke the surface. He spat out a desperate breath and gasped in air for a few moments before his hand came up and rubbed water from his eyes.

"Anything?" Dean called from his vantagepoint on the bank.

Sam swirled himself round in the direction of the noise, blinking water from his eyes and cursing words that should never be allowed to leave one's own head. He raised his other hand, looking at the EMF meter sealed inside its own Zip-Lock plastic bag.

"Just cholera!" he grumped.

"Well this has got to be the worst gig we've done yet," Dean sighed to himself. He looked back over at his brother in the lake. "It's nearly dark. You sure there's nothing down there?"

"What the hell do you think? I am so not doing this for my health, Dean!"

"Alright, alright," Dean called, letting go of his left elbow to put his right hand out to the grass. He heaved himself to his feet from the duffle he'd been sat on, waving at his brother's bobbing head. "That's enough. Come on out of there."

"You sure?" Sam shot back. "There could be a few more diseases I haven't been exposed to yet!"

"Well hey, I can wait if you wanna go ahead and catch yourself some typhoid," Dean called back cheerfully.

Sam's response was lost in the splash as he made an effort to get back to the bank. He found the silt under his bare feet and waded out as best he could, managing not to slip over.

"Aw, hell no! Seriously, dude!" Dean protested in disgust, averting his eyes quickly by bending down toward Sam's piled clothes on the bank.

"What?" Sam demanded angrily, his teeth starting to think about chattering.

"White shorts?" Dean accused, tossing him the t-shirt hastily. "I think I've just been scarred for life."

"How was I to know you'd make me jump in a goddamned lake!" Sam snapped.

Dean kept his eyes on the darkening sky as his younger brother dried most of himself off with his t-shirt as best he could. He pulled on his jeans and his heavy shirt, buttoning it up quickly and rubbing the few areas of his t-shirt that were not already sopping wet at his hair.

"I need the hottest shower in the world. Right now," he stated vehemently.

"I could see that," Dean grumped, judging it safe to look down from the dark clouds. "So whut do we do now? If it's not down there, where could it be?"

"Hey, I've got an idea," Sam said brightly, bending and picking up his socks and boots in one hand and his jacket in the other. He began to walk back to the Impala and Dean followed. "Maybe the demon _lied_ to you."

"Nah, he was telling the truth alright," Dean sniffed. Sam stopped suddenly.

"And how do you know that, Dean?" he demanded hotly. "And why did you wait until my back was turned before you started on him with a big-ass knife? Afraid I'd see you at work?"

Dean paled and Sam stopped short, shocked. But then Dean's guilty expression was swallowed up by annoyance so quickly, Sam wondered if he'd really seen anything at all.

"You're not the only one who does whatever it takes," Dean managed. "You think I _wanted_ to do that to him?"

Sam heard the words spring to mind and they were already out of his mouth before he could stop them: "You said it yourself, Dean: you carved up souls in Hell and you _liked_ it."

Dean took a slight step back, appraising him with an odd look to his features. "Oh, ok," he nodded slowly. "So what, we got our Truth hats on now? Is that it?" he breathed, and the lack of volume made the skin over Sam's shoulders prickle in apprehension.

"Sure," he managed.

"He wasn't going to tell you, alright? He wasn't. He woulda let us send him back to Hell first - or kill him. That was what he wanted - a way out," Dean allowed calmly. "So I let him believe I was there for the fun of it - I let him believe I was prepared to do things to him that would make him scream all friggin' night. Not cos I wanted something, but cos I _liked it_." He paused, lifting his chin slowly. "And then I made him beg a way out," he said simply. "I let him choose a route he wanted, and I pretended to give in, and damn me if he didn't snap my hand off to spill all the info we wanted."

Sam stared into the green eyes watching him with earnest determination.

"So yeah, I enjoyed that bit - the bit when he just blabbed it all out. I didn't like what it took to get there, but hey, for right now, I'm thinkin' the ends justifies the means. Now if you want to _argue_ with that," he stated firmly, jabbing an abrupt finger at his brother, "if you think I done anything wrong here, Mr I Can Kill Demons With My Brain, then by all means," he added, leaning his jutted chin out deliberately, "_you_ let me know," he finished clearly.

Sam's mouth opened and they stared at each other. Dean tilted his head slightly, his chin raising as he dared his sibling to come up with a single comment.

But Sam blew out a steady huff and shook his head slowly. "You know what, man?" he sighed. "I really don't care right now. Whether he lied or not, I'm dripping and the brick's obviously not here."

"Yeah," Dean allowed, the harshness gone from his frame. "You need a shower and hot coffee. Come on," he said dismissively, heading for the car.

"The way my luck's going today, we'll get back there and find the girls have moved the goddamn filters," he sighed.

Dean's hand shot out into his brother's front, stopping him in his tracks. "Whut?" he demanded. "Whut'd you say?"

Sam shrugged, bemused. "Ah… I just meant the way my day's going, I wouldn't be surprised if we get back to the motel and find that the girls have moved the coffee filters for the machine," he blinked. He stopped dead, thinking about his words. "Holy crap!" he gasped.

"_He moved the brick_," the boys said together.

Dean went for the keys in his jeans pocket, unlocking the Impala and swinging the door open awkwardly with his right hand. Sam hurried round the back of the vehicle, sliding in and throwing his footwear into the rear footwell.

"Why would he do that? Where did he put it?" Sam blurted.

"_He_ didn't - that's why he didn't already have it, even though he knew where it was supposed to be!"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Who got there first? Who must have known where it was before this demon?" he demanded, already sliding the keys into the ignition and turning her over.

"Gary Lands - Gary _Lands_?" Sam gasped. "But you killed him! - Ah, I mean, the demon."

"Yeah, and then his rival or accomplice carried on looking for the seal - this brick. And he thought it was in the lake. But what if Gary Lands' demon already moved it and didn't have time to tell this other dude before you knifed him where he was sat?"

Sam grumped for a second. Then he looked back at his brother. "You think he stashed it at Gary Lands' house?" he asked.

"It's not like anyone else would look for it there, is it?" Dean allowed. The tyres spun and the car leapt from the gravel eagerly, heading to the exit lane. She glided out onto the main road and the speedometer started to climb with relish.

"Woah Dean - what's the hurry?" Sam protested.

"You didn't taste that water while you were down there?" Dean snapped. "Cos I could sure smell it."

"Well, yeah, actually, it was--"

"Salty?" Dean accused.

"Yeah, come to think of it, it was a little--"

"So how did a _demon_ get it out of the lake, Sam!"

"Uh… he used a fishing pole?"

Dean tutted and his eyes rolled like pinballs. "Why was Gary Lands picked for a host? Cos his house is so _very_ far away from the lake?"

"Well, I guess it was cos he had no immediate family, no-one that would miss him for a few days if he ignored them--"

"And cos he has a dopey-assed over-friendly retrieval dog in his kitchen!"

"No way," Sam sighed, pushing wet hair from his face. "He got the _dog_ to pull it out?"

"My best guess," Dean snapped.

"So what's the hurry?"

"It was buried at the bottom of a salty lake - so no demon or weirdo flying spider monkey bat would be able to get it out themselves."

"Yeah? And?"

"And now it's been pulled, what's to stop those monkey bats from smellin' it like fresh bread in a bakery and zooming in on it?"

"Ah… Ok, so the bats know where it is. This is a good thing, remember? They're trying to open it themselves anyway," he pointed out.

"Yeah. But they ain't the only ones after it."

"You think demons can smell it too?"

"I think demons can smell it too," Dean confirmed.

"But they'd need to kill the last bat on it to open the bad seal."

"So ain't it convenient that he's left it out where both sides can find it? Oh, and we're down to three bats. How long can three kamikaze flying mammals hold out against who-knows-how-many demons playing 'fish in a barrel'?"

"Good point," Sam allowed. He cast a quick look at the speedometer. "Drive faster."

.

.

* * *

_Suffering from a hangover, so my apologies if there are any typos here. :)_


	14. Finders Sealers

**FOURTEEN**

**Finders Sealers**

.

.

The Impala screeched to a halt outside the house. The engine died, the headlights winked out. The doors opened as quietly as physically possible, given the old girl's penchant for announcing the workings of her two-way thoroughfares with searing squeaks.

Two figures stole up the path, splitting off and aiming for the two front windows at ground level. They were given careful consideration before the two dark shapes were re-united at the front door.

"Take the back," Dean whispered. "I'll go in through the kitchen."

"Because?"

"Because if they've hurt that dog, I'll string every last one of 'em up by their cloudy demonic asses."

"Right," Sam allowed, hiding a smile at his attempt to work out just how his brother could achieve his threat. He took off left, heading for the side of the house and round.

Dean pulled out his lock-picking tools, pushing two grips into the slot. His left hand fumbled and he dropped the tiny slide. He cursed, wincing as his shoulder protested its use. He crouched down to retrieve it.

The front door splintered outward. It missed his head by inches. He threw himself to his right. He landed in the rose bushes, twisting to pull up his Colt 1911.

A tall figure appeared in front of him. It turned and looked down. Dean let the gun fall to the soil by his side. He ripped open his jacket, searching for the flask of holy water in the inside pocket.

"Dean Winchester," said a decidedly sultry voice. "We heard you were looking into this seal too. Where's that delicious dark-prince brother of yours?"

Dean's left hand connected with the flask. He pulled it out as the tall figure stepped forward, revealing long, black hair and a facial bone structure most up-market cosmetic surgeons would have wept in ecstasy to behold.

"I thought it was just one of you stains after the seal?" he accused, catching his breath.

The demon took a step closer, her eyes flashing black in the moonlight. A sound of canine whining and abject pleading filled the air. Dean's other hand grasped at the cap of the flask quickly.

"You thought wrong," she smiled, crouching by his knees. "We're a team. I'm guessing you got rid of my brother. Shame."

"Aw, you miss him?" he accused, pulling the cap free.

"No, I wanted to off him myself. He was a little… weak. At times," she grinned. "I'm guessing it was him that told you where to find the seal?"

Dean twitched his left wrist, sending his hand out in an arc. But his shoulder screamed and temporarily lost all of its strength. He cried out in unexpected pain. The flask tumbled from his weak fingers, hitting the dirt with conviction.

"Aww, poor baby," she tutted. "Did my brother hurt you?"

She put her hand on the dirt bed next to him, then grabbed his arm. He struggled but her left hand went to his throat, gripping tightly. Her right hand reached his shoulder, yanking the shirt and t-shirt down. She laughed and slapped her hand to the white pad. She dug her nails into the gauze surface and Dean grunted out a roar of anger.

"_Gaaah - you bitch!_" he seethed through gritted teeth.

"Sticks and stones," she sang cheerfully, "will break _your_ bones."

She laughed and put more weight into her fingers.

Abruptly she gasped and froze. Dean felt the pressure disappear from his throat and shoulder. He pushed up with his right hand, propelling her off him. She rolled to one side, jerking and smouldering, her eyes jammed open in horrific realisation.

Sam leaned over her and slid the knife free of the back of her neck. He panted some breath back, leaning over and holding his hand out.

Dean put his right hand up blindly and Sam grabbed his wrist. Between them they hauled the elder Winchester to his feet, and Sam watched him bend over and regain some breath.

"You ok?" he asked quickly, eyeing the way Dean grasped at his shoulder, his face giving new meaning to the phrase 'bad ham'.

"Did you get the brick?" he panted.

"Dude, I have no idea what it looks like," he protested. "I was in there for like a minute before I realised you weren't already in the kitchen. I came back round and here you were, under some demon chick."

"Jealous?" Dean winced, but Sam just looked back at the house.

"How do we find it?"

"I know someone who knows exactly what it looks like," Dean groaned. He bent down and picked up his gun, pushing it in his coat pocket.

"Who?"

Dean stumbled to the front door, putting his bloodied right hand to the frame. He pushed at the door and opened it up, sticking his head in.

"Angel?" he called hopefully. "Angel! Come here, darlin'!"

There was a clicking, padding noise and then a panting, rowling mass appeared in the archway.

"You have got to be kidding me," Sam smiled.

The Rottweiler whined and jumped up, almost pushing Dean over. He counter-balanced her weight, grabbing at her head with his weak left hand. She whined piteously and stretched her neck out, lapping her huge tongue out toward his cheek.

"Alright sweetheart, yeah, I know," he breathed, pushing her down to her four paws again, "I know you missed me."

"Seriously?" Sam reiterated. Dean just turned to him, waving him over.

"Get over here," he ordered. Sam scoffed in amusement, advancing on the pair of them. Dean turned to the dog, grabbing her collar to prevent her from trying to ram her nose into his crotch. "I told you, I ain't into that," he said curtly, pulling her round. He crouched down and she immediately leapt at his face again with her wide tongue. "Angel! Sit!" he commanded.

The dog surprised the Winchesters by doing exactly that. She sat to attention, her tiny tail stump haring from side to side as she watched Dean like the proverbial hawk.

"Right, now," he said professionally, putting a hand up to her muzzle and tapping his thumb against her nose gently. He looked at Sam and waved him closer. "Smell him," he ordered, guiding her nose against Sam's hand. "Salty, ain't he?" he observed. "That ain't just his language, sweetheart." The dog ran her nose up Sam's wrist, snuffling and making odd little growling noises to herself. "Got it?" Dean hazarded, pulling her collar to bring her away. "Find it, Angel. Find the brick that smells like him."

She let her mouth fall open and panted in his face.

"This is not going to work, Dean," Sam sighed, as she tried to reach Dean's nose with her tongue. "We're going to get more and more demons here until--"

"Angel," Dean said sharply, making her stop attempting to cover his face in saliva. "I've just gotta find the right word, Sam," he added irritably. "She'll find it for us."

"We're wasting time," he protested.

"Angel, look at me," the oldest Winchester instructed, shaking her collar just slightly. She pinned him with an adoring, wistful look. "Search! Search for the brick!"

She yawned and slapped her teeth together noisily.

"Ok then… Find it! Bring it - no wait," Dean said quickly, "I'm not into dog-baiting either. Ah…"

"Look, you clown around out here, I'll go inside and--"

"C'mon, darlin', work with me," Dean groused. "Retrieve! Find! Search! Uh - uh - look for it!" he added desperately.

"Leave her," Sam said gently.

"_Guh_! How can this be so hard? You're a dog! All you do is fetch things - oh! _Fetch!_" he cried triumphantly.

Angel licked her lips and watched him avidly.

"You tried," Sam allowed. "It was a good idea."

"Shut up," Dean snapped. "C'mon, Angel - help me out here, huh? Huh?" he pleaded. "Or I am never gonna live this down. How do I make you get it?"

She snapped to attention, springing to all four paws and pulling at his grip. Dean grinned delightedly, and no adjectives in the world could describe the width of his smile.

"_Get_ it? Get it! Get the smelly friggin' brick!" he gushed. He let go and she tore off through the kitchen, her claws clicking against the tiles. Dean turned his head to look up at his baby brother. "After you," he grinned maliciously.

Sam hurried after the dog and Dean allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk before he pulled on the doorframe with his right hand, getting to his feet laboriously. He got into the kitchen just in time to catch sight of Sam disappearing up the stairs after the boundingly enthusiastic canine.

He walked to the wooden chairs and grabbed the nearest one, turning it round to face away from the open kitchen door. He sat himself on it wearily, leaned his elbows on the backrest in front of him, and let his head dangle forwards on his neck. He rubbed it tiredly before he put his right hand to his jacket collar, pulling back the heavy garment and looking at his t-shirt underneath. The raised square of dressing over the stitches was again sporting an unenviable pattern of small red dots, fresh hurt from the inside, and he sighed. He let the jacket drop and shook his head slowly.

He worked up the energy to find the flask in his jacket pocket. He looked at it, found it was the opposite of what he wanted first, and searched again. This one was much more to his liking and he unscrewed it thoughtfully, taking a long few sips of alcohol. He replaced the cap, sniffed to himself, and then secreted it back inside his coat.

He lifted his left elbow to sit higher up on the backrest and reached for the flask of holy water again. He got comfortable and watched the back door as if he expected it to bite him.

.

* * *

.

Sam stood back and watched the dog push her nose into the piles of clothes and the bedding excitedly. She whipped around and ran to the wardrobe, scrabbling at the door. Sam opened it for her and she dived inside, disappearing in the murky depths of clothes sprawled willy-nilly. She began to bark urgently and then she leapt out again, finding Sam and then turning to look at the wardrobe. She barked again and he lifted his hands.

"Alright! Ok!" he protested. He put his hand out to her head and she waited expectantly. "Good - eh, girl," he managed awkwardly, patting slightly. She stood back and he opened the other door, snapping on the light. "And?" he asked himself.

She barged in past his leg, nearly toppling him, her head down to the carpet. She grasped a pair of jeans and hauled them out, shaking them as if they owed her a new chew-toy. Sam turned and saw an eight-inch lump fall to the floor.

"That's it?" he asked, confused. He bent down and put his hand out for it, but she barked at him. "What? You did it, you found it," he said. His fingers connected with it and a low, growling warning started in her throat. Sam's hand paused but the noise got louder. He eyed her, withdrawing his hand. She stopped growling but her stance remained unchanged.

He sniffed, thinking about it. Then he put his hands to the jeans underneath, lifting them and the object without touching it. She dragged in a huge breath and suddenly he was bombarded with a barrage of the most impossibly loud barks he had ever heard in his life. Spooked, he dropped the clothes and got to his feet.

"Ok! I get it!" he said quickly, fear goose-bumping down his back. He pointed at the object, then the stairs. "Take it to Dean then, if you love him so much!"

She eyed him warily but her head dropped. She grabbed the lump in her mouth and trotted off past him, out of the door.

He blew out an annoyed huff and followed her down the stairs and round to the kitchen. The dog skittered happily over the tiles, stopping by Dean's chair and landing her chin on his left leg with a thump.

"Aw hey, you're back," he said cheerfully, turning to look down at her. "Is this it?" He put his right hand over for it and she dropped it faithfully into his possession. Dean stared at it, confused. "You sure?" he asked doubtfully. She gave a half-woof, half-huff from under her jowls and he shrugged.

Sam walked over, looking down at the brick. "It doesn't look like much to me either," he confessed.

Dean turned it over and over, finding it eight inches long by four square. It looked to be made of some kind of clay, without markings, traces or anything else to indicate a special purpose.

"The demon said I'd know it when I saw it," Dean muttered, baffled. "What the hell is this?" He turned it again in his hands but his left fumbled. He cursed as it dropped to the hard kitchen floor.

A shard of clay cracked away from the edge. Angel put her head down and licked it thoughtfully, causing another shard to break away.

"Angel! No!" Dean admonished. She looked up at him. "You do not wanna eat that crap," he said sternly.

"But… she did find markings underneath," Sam pointed out slowly, walking over and crouching down to the brick. "Look at this!" He put his hand out but Angel scooped it up quickly, pushing it at Dean's lap.

"Thanks," he blinked, surprised. Sam's eyes darted to the ceiling in disbelief and indignation. Angel just stood back, apparently pleased. Dean lifted the brick and looked at the odd shapes carved into the surface where the mud had fallen away. "You recognise any of this?" he asked, turning it for his brother to see.

"I don't think so," he muttered, pre-occupied. Dean passed it to him and Angel began to growl.

"Hey," Dean said sharply, looking at her. "He's just lookin', ok?"

She licked her lips and sat slowly, content to watch. Sam carried the brick to the kitchen sink, rapping it against the side and shaking off more clayish mud.

"There's more underneath," he said, turning on the tap. He ran it under the water but the mud did not move. He looked around, finding a wire scourer by the sink and attacking the caked silt. It took him a few minutes, but with a little elbow grease he had the brick mostly unearthed, some of the marks legible. He rinsed his hands and turned off the tap. "We'd better check just what these are before we start slicing at it with a knife," he mused.

"Oh _yeah_," Dean gushed, and Sam looked up from the brick in surprise. He heard Dean chuckle delightedly and turned slowly.

He found he had turned in his seat, and now Angel had her chin on his leg and her paw scraping at his side. He was scrubbing his right hand over her head, making her whine enthusiastically in enjoyment. His hand stopped and she barked and whined, struggling and nudging at his left. He lifted it and attacked her side and she made ecstatic '_rowl_'ing noises at him. He stopped abruptly, hissing.

"_Ow ow ow_," he grunted, lifting his left arm back with his right. She licked at his hand but he dropped his right hand on her head. "Alright, darlin', save some for later," he managed, his face pained.

Sam sighed philosophically and carried the brick back over. He dumped it on the table in front of Dean, watching him with his eyebrows just a little too high.

"Whut?" Dean asked innocently.

Sam opened his mouth, thought about it, then huffed slightly. "You're enjoying her company way too much. It's starting to freak me out," he admitted awkwardly.

"Don't know what your talking about," Dean said professionally, putting his hand out for the brick.

"Oh Angel!" Sam gushed, lifting his hands and waving them slightly, his voice thin and breathy. "Oh Angel! Oh darlin'! You love me, don't you sweetheart?" he cooed in a high, little-boy voice that nevertheless sounded far too much like Dean for his elder brother's amusement.

"Shut up," he grumped. "You're just pissed she don't like you."

"Whatever," Sam sighed. "Look, we need to know more about this brick," he said. "I'm sorry Dean, but I just don't trust some demon under duress to tell the truth - not when these markings are supposed to pre-date Castiel."

" 'Spose you have a point," he admitted grudgingly. He looked down at the dog, who was currently watching his every move with her tongue hanging out and her eyes full of adoration. "We'd better go find the girls. And they're in a library, right? Should be something in there that'll help us."

"Right," Sam said.

They got up to leave and Angel trotted cheerfully after them. Sam and Dean turned to look at her, stopping in the doorway.

Sam sighed. "Stop--"

"Come on then," Dean interrupted. The two boys looked at each other.

"You aren't serious," Sam stated flatly.

"Sam, the owner's dead and no-one's gonna be checking this place for at least a week. We can't just leave her here like this," his brother said reasonably. Sam searched his face very thoroughly, but even he could not find a single trace of an emotion other than determination.

"So take her to an animal shelter!"

"Whut, now? _Right_ now? At--" He lifted his watch. "At eight at night? Yeah sure - and when the apocalypse hits and Castiel's blaming it on me, I'll say it was all down to you just _having_ to stop everything to give a dog a home," he said pointedly. Sam stuck his jaw out but Dean just turned and looked down at the dog. "You're with me, sweetheart," he instructed, jerking his head at the door. She yelped happily and bounded out of the door into the darkness.

"So ah… she sitting on your seats, is she?" Sam asked innocently.

"I got a blanket in the trunk somewhere," Dean shot back. "And right now, she smells a whole lot cleaner than you, Michael Phelps. Speakin' of which, you wanna drop by the motel so you can get cleaned up first?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed, walking out of the house. Dean followed, closing the door behind him quietly.

.

* * *

.

The boys wended their way through the labyrinthine arrangement of bookcases and desks, spotting the two dark heads at the back of the room. They stopped by the desk, finding Moon buried in a book that appeared to be full of strange squiggles and complicated handwriting. Pamela was across the table from her, her head tilted slightly, as if listening to something.

Sam pulled out the chair next to Moon silently, sitting down. She looked up abruptly as if startled and turned to him.

"Sam! You scared the life out of me!" she hissed.

"Don't stop," Pamela protested. "It was just getting to the good bit."

Dean took the chair next to her, looking confused, but it was Sam who spoke.

"Are we interrupting something?"

"I'm reading for Pamela," Moon admitted.

The boys exchanged a baffled glance.

"As in, reading out loud?" Dean prompted.

Pamela put a hand up and nudged his shoulder, only slightly off-target. "We're psychics," she grinned. "And we were having fun. What have you two been doing?"

"Swimming, breaking and entering, stealing," Sam said pointedly, an annoyed look at his elder brother.

"Stealing what?" Moon asked quietly.

"Well, we think we have the key to opening this good seal, the one that lets out the army of monkey bats," Sam said cheerfully.

She shuddered. "Don't. I'm pomfretphobic, remember?"

"You're scared of French fries?" Dean asked, deadpan. She tutted at him. "Look, you don't have to be anywhere near 'em, ok? We just need to check the writing on the brick, then you two can hole up again while we get all this straightened out."

"Cool," she sighed, clearly a huge breath of relief. "What's the message you need decoding? Is it like instructions?"

"We have no idea," Sam admitted. He opened the duffle at his feet, taking out his notebook. He flipped through and stopped it at a page, spreading it open and turning it to her. "That's a rubbing of the brick, after we'd cleaned it up. It doesn't even look like anything vaguely to do with an alphabet."

"Could be like hieroglyphics," Dean put in.

"It's more likely to be runic - or pictograms," Sam argued.

"You mean like little stick men throwing little stick spears at little stick animals?" Dean asked, both eyebrows raised in apparent disbelief.

"Kinda," Sam allowed. He looked at Moon. "You ever seen anything like this before?"

"Uh… actually? No," she admitted.

"Fair enough," Sam sighed. "So I guess we get started on finding languages more ancient than Hebrew."

"Excuse me, gentlemen, ladies," said a polite voice, and everyone jumped. They turned to see a small librarian watching them with abject apology. "It's really very late, and I'm afraid we can't keep the lights on much longer."

"Oh, hey, no, that's fine," Dean said, getting to his feet and giving her a warm smile. "We were just leaving."

"Thank you, sir. I am sorry to interrupt your studies. It must be something very important."

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "It's a paper on… uh…"

"Kinda…" Sam havered.

"Well…" Dean offered.

"Theology," Moon piped up. "Origins of religions, that kind of thing."

"Oh. Have you checked the Joseph Campbell section?" the librarian smiled. "'_The Hero With A Thousand Faces_' would be the best place to start."

"Aw, _psshht_, of course," Dean scoffed. "We been through that like a thousand times. Once for every face," he nodded with a wide smile.

The librarian gave a little giggle. "Well then. I am sorry to push you out of the door like this, but we were supposed to close at eight."

"No trouble," Dean smiled, turning to Pamela. She was already getting to her feet. She turned and put her hand out, Dean putting his arm under it for her. She grasped it and he nodded to the librarian, walking the psychic out of the huge room slowly.

Sam and Moon nodded their thanks and snatched up Sam's notebook and duffle. They followed outside into the dark parking lot.

Dean led Pamela to the Impala, but she froze as she got within four feet of the door. "Dean!" she gasped. "There's something in there!"

"Whut?" he demanded. "Oh! Yeah, hang on, I know," he breathed, relaxing. "We found her. She's going to the animal shelter tomorrow."

"What is it?" Pamela asked carefully. She put her hand out and walked forward, sliding her hand against the paintwork as he put his key in the door.

"It's just a dog," he shrugged.

"A dog? Really?" she smiled. "Ok then."

He opened the door and Pamela heard whining and movement.

"Angel! Down!" Dean snapped.

"Her name's Angel?" she teased.

"Hey, she was already called that," he protested. His voice got further away suddenly. "Angel! Sit," he commanded.

Pamela grinned and she heard doors closing and opening. "Where do I get in?"

"You can sit up front, if you like," Dean shrugged.

"_Nizhokma!_" came a frightened squeak from behind them. "What the hell's _that_!"

Dean turned to find Moon clutching onto Sam's arm for dear life, her eyes large and round as she stared at the silhouette of the dog's head in the back seat.

"It's just a dog," Sam said gently, walking her closer. "Look, it's just--"

"It's friggin' _huge_!" Moon whimpered. "I'm not going anywhere near that!"

"Moon," Dean sighed. "Just get in the car."

"No way! Over _your_ dead body, Dean Winchester!" she cried fearfully.

Sam and Dean shared a look. Then Dean turned to the car and opened the rear passenger door.

"Angel? Out," he ordered. The dog leapt from the car to the gravel, watching him avidly. "You're gonna be up front with me."

She licked her lips and sat down, alert and waiting. Dean turned to Sam, waving his arms out. He smiled privately and pulled Moon along with him, going to the back seat and pushing her to climb in. He made sure Moon was against the near-side window before he turned and took Pamela's arm.

"You're with us," he advised. He got in and she followed his hand, bending to slide in after him. Dean put a light hand to her head, making sure she didn't bang it on the overhang. She scooted up next to Sam comfortably.

Dean closed the door and moved to the front passenger door, looking down at the dog.

"Right. No slobbering, chewing or licking," he grilled sternly. "This is the _front_ seat now, alright? It ain't for puppies or whining little bitches who can't keep their drool or paws to themselves. Do you get me, sweetheart?"

She yawned and licked at her lips, putting a paw up to knock at the front of his leg.

"Well alright then. Remember, you make a mess of this, darlin', and it goes on your permanent record." He opened the door and Sam reached forward, proferring the blanket from the back seat. It already sported a fine array of dog hairs and mysterious small damp rings, evidence of Angel's drooling the evening away waiting for them. Dean took the blanket and spread it over the seat before he stood back from the door, waving a hand at the seats.

She leapt in and plonked herself square on the blanket on the passenger side, her hind legs spreading slightly toward the window. She pushed herself upright with her forepaws, watching Dean close the door. He walked around and got in the driver's side, pushing the keys into the ignition.

Angel leaned over and licked at his right ear happily. He sighed and turned to her, pushing her shoulder to heave her back a short way. "That is so not attractive when you're not human."

"Are we ready now?" Sam asked, hiding a smile at his brother's expense.

"Yup," he nodded, reversing the car out and round, taking her out of the parking lot.

.

.

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_


	15. Seal? You Can't Handle The Seal!

**FIFTEEN**

**The Seal? You Can't Handle The Seal!**

.

Dean closed the motel room door behind him. He walked in, looking down into the brown bag in his hands. He set it on the table next to the shunned television set, pulling out a large wrapped item.

"Bacon, mushroom, cheese?" he asked, still looking through the bag.

"Here," Moon piped up. He tossed it across the room and she caught it gratefully, sitting up on Sam's bed to unwrap it.

Dean pulled his hand out of the bag with another wrapper. "No onions?"

"Here," Pamela called. Dean turned and walked over, placing it in her hands before going back to the bag on the table.

He pulled out a large wrapper, smelling it. "One with everything for me," he smiled, before pulling out another wrapper. "And a double with no cheese."

Sam put his hand out for it, his eyes still glued to the information on the laptop. He continued to read before he realised nothing had magically appeared in his waiting fingers. His gaze flicked up to the curtains in front of him as he heard snuffling noises.

He turned in the wooden chair to find Dean scrubbing a hand down Angel's back as she attacked the huge burger laid out on the wrapper at her feet. Sam tutted.

"Where's mine?" he asked pointedly.

"Alright, keep your shirt on," Dean protested, letting go of the dog to go back to the bag. "Here." He pulled out a smaller wrapper and tossed it under-arm across the room.

Sam snatched it from the air and spared it a cursory glance before setting it on the table next to him. "So all we have so far is that this brick pre-dates most religions we've checked it against," he admitted.

"Well _I_ say," Dean began, pulling open his wrapper and pushing as much burger into his mouth as possible, "we just slice the damn thing open like we planned," he added, his voice muffled by the food.

"What if this is not what we think it is?" Sam asked. "We could be making it worse - or helping the wrong side."

"True," Pamela put in, her burger safely in both hands as she chewed thoughtfully. "Who put you two onto this seal in the first place?"

"An angel," Dean admitted warily.

The dog lifted her head from her demolition of the food. She checked the human in front of her, found Dean with his attention elsewhere, and went back to the burger.

"An angel?" Pamela demanded. "Right. If they're something to do with all this, I'm going home."

"Pamela," Moon began.

"I'm sorry sweetie, but I didn't get into this for their seals or some angel's instructions about the apocalypse," Pamela snapped. "I got into this to help a fellow psychic. I think my work here is done, and I should be gettin' home."

"Woah woah woah," Dean said quickly. "We got the brick - and both sides are after it. You leave now, you really think they're gonna believe you're not trying to smuggle it away somewhere?"

"Besides," Sam interrupted, "the angel told us not to interfere, not to do this."

Pamela hesitated. "Really?"

"Really," both boys confirmed.

"He was very clear on that point," Sam nodded. "Told us many times."

"So… why _are_ you doing this?" Moon asked quietly.

"Cos leaving it alone ain't right," Dean said automatically.

Moon and Sam exchanged a glance.

"I could quite happily leave it alone," she offered. "In fact, I could go my whole life without chasing down scary monkey bats cos some guy thinks it's the right thing to do."

"Yeah? Well you ain't me," Dean grumped, as if to himself. She looked at him steadily, and he realised he was being watched. He looked up from his burger, still chewing. "Whut?"

"Nothing," she said quietly. She cleared her throat, turning to Sam. "So if demons are on one side, and these bat things are on the other, and angels are telling you to back away from it all, what are we supposed to do next?"

The dog lifted her head from her now empty wrapper and sought out Dean's face. She _woof_ed quietly and he looked down at her.

"I like the way you think," he grinned slyly.

"You're a dog whisperer now?" Pamela teased.

Dean looked up and found the room watching him. "We give it to them," he shrugged.

"What?" Sam demanded. "We're just gonna hand over the object that breaks two seals at the same time?"

"Yup - and then stand back and watch - cos hey, we _are_ supposed to be staying out of it all," Dean grinned. He nodded to himself before taking a huge bite of the burger.

Sam huffed. "You know… You might have warned me you had nothing," he accused.

"We let all sides know where it's going to be - and then we just leave it there?" Moon asked quietly.

"We leave it there - and then we start picking off demons from the bushes, sniper style," Dean chuckled maliciously. "Bats open the seal themselves, demons fight bravely and get ganked, angels can we see did nothing, everyone's happy."

"Oh," Sam blinked, surprised.

"Right," Pamela said slowly. "There's just one thing that bothers me."

"What's that?" Moon asked, turning to look at her with wary indecision.

"Well… you said an angel told you not to interfere. Why did he do that?"

"Don't know," Sam admitted. "He never really did give us an answer. Made out the orders came from higher up."

Pamela digested this slowly. "So it's possible if you do this, if you interfere, you could be making things worse without realising it?"

"Maybe we shouldn't be bringing both sides together like that," Moon added.

"It _would_ be better if we waited until I knew more about the inscriptions on the brick," Sam sighed, looking over at his brother.

He looked up at them all, chewing slowly. "Look, it's simple," Dean stated flatly. "Demons are bad. Monkey bats are - ok, well they're not good, but they protect a seal the demons want opened, so the way I figure it, that puts them more on my side than not. Now Cas turns up and tells us to back off - _there's_ a surprise," he scoffed sarcastically. "I, for one, am not letting demons open any more seals, and excuse my Latin, but Cas can kiss my friggin' ass if he thinks I'm standing by and watching these demons kill off bat-things, just to break some damn seal and get into that evil bitch Lilith's good books."

Sam and Moon stared at him. Pamela tilted her head, considering.

"When you put it like that," she smiled. "I might enjoy going against an angel's wishes."

"I don't know," Moon said quietly. "He looked pretty serious."

"Cas always looks serious," Dean put in dismissively, "it's what keeps his mac stiff."

Sam sighed and turned back to his laptop. "Ok then," he said grandly, with just a hint of resignation, "let's find a good place to set this all off."

.

* * *

.

Dean opened the motel entrance and let Angel skip out past his legs. She ran off into the car park, making a beeline for the Impala.

"Hey! Get back here!" he called with a grin.

The dog screeched to a halt, whipping around and bounding happily back toward him. He was already at the soda machine along the pavement before she lollopped back to his side, panting and wagging her tiny stump of a tail.

"Y'know, you're much more fun than Sam," he grinned, feeling in his deep jeans pocket for change. "'Least I can still tell _you_ what to do."

"You have done it again," said a weary voice from behind him. He didn't even turn around, but kept searching for coins.

"Whut's that, Cas?"

"You have gone against everything I wanted for you."

"Yeah well - it's a gift," Dean sniffed cheerfully. He turned suddenly to look at the grumpy warrior for God. "You got any quarters?"

"You must not interfere with the seals," Castiel stated clearly.

"Didn't think so. Shoulda known better than to ask a holy tax accountant if he carries change," Dean tutted. He turned back to the machine. "Ah-hah!" he breathed, pulling his hand from his jeans. "Bingo." He began feeding money into the slot.

"Dean, this is important."

"Oh, believe me, I know. I have three thirsty people in there, not to mention me and a slobbering hound who need a Coke and some water - in that order," he smiled.

"I must warn you to re-think your intentions," Castiel groused.

"You think I should go for Pepsi?" Dean offered.

"You're not listening to me."

"Oh no, I'm listening," Dean nodded helpfully, pushing at a lighted square to choose the first can of soda. "Go on. Something about not doing anything?"

"You must leave the seals to the others like them."

"The whales?"

"Dean."

"You know, if you save the whales you can swap 'em later for bigger prizes," he continued cheerfully, as the first can thunked into the delivery tray. "Is it the same for seals?"

Castiel put a hand out and grabbed the human's right shoulder roughly. He wrenched him round to look at him.

"Woah, careful there, Cas, you might make people believe you got feelings of anger in there somewhere," Dean joked, a wide smile on his face.

"Are you going to step away from this?" he growled.

"No!" Dean shot back, suddenly angry. "And you know why?"

He put his hand up, shoving Castiel's grip from the shoulder roughly. Castiel closed on him menacingly but Dean drew himself up, sticking his chin out into the angel's personal space. It made him pause.

"Tell me," he demanded.

"Cos it's not what you want and it ain't what I want and it sure as Hell ain't what Moon wants, seeing as how she's phobic!" he cried angrily into his face. "It ain't the safest or the easiest and it ain't even what anyone would call allowed, judging by how you been warning me off it! But it's _right_, and I know it is! Now if you wanna run back to Daddy and tell him what we're doing here and how his little 'creations' are takin' care of business for him _in his absence_, make sure you tell him that, too!" he snapped. "Tell him _we're_ at ground zero, _we_ know what's really going on, and _we're_ doing something about it!"

Castiel took a slow step back, eyeing the human with a look that Dean could not even begin to identify. They stared at each other for a long moment.

"How do you _know_ it's right?" Castiel asked quietly, and Dean was surprised by the dawning look of awe - or perhaps, if he were willing to believe what he was seeing - respect.

"I just _do_, Cas. It's what humans call 'gut feelings'." He felt something wet on the fingers of his left hand and looked down at the dog. She was licking slightly, apparently in need of some kind of emotional connection. He lifted his hand, setting it on the dog's head confidently. "But I _am_ right about this. And we _are_ gonna do this," he said, looking back at Castiel. "If you want to stop us, now's your chance."

"I…" Castiel took another step back, then turned his head to look around the parking lot slowly. "I am not allowed to get involved."

Dean smiled slightly. "So you're not allowed to stop us?"

"I am not allowed to get involved."

"You're already _involved_, Cas," he scoffed, turning back to the soda machine. The credit was still waiting to be used and he pushed another lighted panel. The motors moved and turned, sending the can to the slot at the bottom with a _bonk_.

"I have to make a report," Castiel said quietly.

"And you're gonna put all this in it?" Dean asked, pressing another drinks selection.

"I must. And--"

"And the bit about the demon I tortured," he guessed. "Fine. Do it. It's all true."

He watched the third can drop into the slot, waiting for the angel's response.

"As you say," he allowed.

Dean pressed the last two choices, sniffing to himself.

"I am not judging you, Dean."

"That's a weight off," he smiled with a boatload of sarcasm.

"We all do what we have to."

Dean paused, thinking this over. "Even you?" he breathed curiously.

"Does it surprise you?" the angel countered softly.

"Not really," Dean sighed, watching the can of soda and the bottle of water bounce down into the delivery slot.

"I know what I have to do now," Castiel added thoughtfully.

"Whut's that?" Dean asked. Castiel watched Dean look down, noticing the dog put her head to the plastic flaps of the machine, grasping the bottle of water in her teeth gently.

"I must be economical with my understanding of your future plans," Castiel admitted.

"_That's_ my Angel," Dean gushed unexpectedly.

"I am not--" Castiel began. His voice stopped abruptly, as if ambushed by the Ninjas of Awkwardness.

Dean turned from the machine to find him standing there with the most uncomfortable, tortured expression on his face he had ever seen. Dean slid his eyes to the right, playing it over in his head, then back to the angel. His finger came out and indicated the pavement next to him.

"I was talkin' to the dog," he said clearly.

Castiel took a step back, clearing his throat slightly. "One of my father's more… loyal creations," he offered slowly.

"Ye-ah," Dean allowed. "Are we done here? Or you waitin' on a Sprite?"

The angel eyed him for a long moment, and the car park air took on a slight chill. It made Dean's skin think about shivering slightly, until Castiel put his hand up with a slowness born of intent. He rested it on Dean's left shoulder, staring into the human's eyes as if directions to the Holy Grail itself were to be found there written in green ink. His hand weighed heavily on the Winchester's shoulder and Dean was conscious of a slight heat, a slight pain in the stitches under the angel's touch.

"That ain't the best place to be puttin' your hand, man," Dean managed, the unpleasant weight causing more pain. Suddenly it felt like the heaviest hand in all the world.

"Keep a careful eye on your friend, Dean," Castiel said knowingly. "She will be scared."

He let his hand drop as they heard a muffled _woof_. Angel barked again past the bottle in her mouth and Dean looked down at her. He looked up again quickly as he realised the parking lot was now missing one angel.

"Good girl," he gushed. He patted at her head lavishly as he bent and took the other cans from the machine. He straightened, walking back toward the entrance. "C'mon, sweetheart. We got an apocalypse prevention mixer to arrange."

.

* * *

.

"There," Sam said proudly, leaning back in his chair and pointing at the laptop screen. Dean peered over his shoulder, squinting at the small grey square on the internet satellite map.

"What am I lookin' at?" he asked, non-plussed.

"Nothing," he replied triumphantly.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. Well, besides that empty farmhouse. No houses, no schools, no offices, no shops--"

"No innocent bystanders," Dean nodded. "Good thinkin', Sam." He slapped the back of his chair lightly as he straightened up, looking to the girls currently talking on his bed. "We're gonna be pretty much out of everyone's way while we do this," he said. "You two ready to ship out?"

"Oh _yeah_. I want to be wherever you two and your loaded guns are," Pamela said firmly. "And just for once, that was _not_ a come-on." Her head swung round in Moon's direction. "You?"

"I… I think I might… er… stay here," she said quietly. "You know, to… er…"

"Look," Dean said gently, walking over and plonking himself on the bed a discreet distance from her. "I understand you really don't want to do this. But if you're not with us, demons might think to come looking for you."

"Why?" she dared.

"The angel that I spoke to? He knows you're with us. And if _he_ knows, the other side knows," Dean reasoned.

"And the demon we got the intel from before? He knew you put us onto his seal-breaking attempt. So yeah, I'd say they'd come to find you," Sam added apologetically.

Moon huffed, sagging and putting her face in her hands. "I wish Sunny were here," she moaned. "She'd slap me for being self-absorbed."

"I can do that," Pamela offered with a teasing smile, her hand raising to indicate her volunteer status.

Moon peered out from between her fingers. She let herself smile, then made her hands drop. She turned to look at Dean. "Can you do me a favour?" she asked quietly.

"Sure," he shrugged. The movement caused a twinge in his left shoulder and he made a mental note to stop using it like the stitches didn't hurt.

"When I see the first bat thing and I scream like a girl, can you made sure I don't lose it and get my head taken off by one of them?"

Dean smiled slightly. "If you want me to."

"So… one more thing," Sam said carefully. Dean looked over at his younger brother and saw the look of trepidation on his face.

"Whut?" he asked warily.

Sam pointed to the carpet, and the dog snoozing comfortably upon it. "She going to the pound now?"

"Tomorrow," Dean allowed. "We're a little busy right now."

"Right," Sam allowed lightly. Dean looked at him.

"Whut?"

"Nothing," he said brightly, holding his hands up in surrender. "Nothing."

"Good. Then let's find out what we need, pack it all up, and get on with this," Dean gruffed. He got up from the bed and went to his duffle on the far table.

Sam's gaze landed on Moon's. She tried a timid smile, and he shrugged slightly. Then he got to his feet, closing the laptop and going about finding his things.

.

* * *

.

Sam and Dean hurried out of the car, Sam carrying a bundle of cloth. There was a whining, scrabbling noise and Dean stopped dead, his face a tableau of horrific realisation. He turned back to the car quickly.

"Angel! Stop!" he ordered. The dog in the front passenger seat pressed her nose against the inside of the glass, snuffling and whining at him. "Stop! Just - just get your nose off ma--. Aw, what the hell," he sighed, walking back to the car. He opened the passenger door but pushed her back from trying to jump out. "Stay!" he commanded. He rolled the window down four inches and closed the door again. "Stay. And keep quiet," he stated firmly. She shoved her nose at the gap, desperate to press something against him. He looked at her for a long moment.

"You coming?" Sam called.

Dean put his hand through the gap, scratching at the top of her head. "Stay. And keep quiet," he reiterated, withdrawing his hand and walking off.

Moon turned to Pamela in the back seat. "I swear he's forgotten we're even here. You know, I think he cares about that dog more than us," she pointed out conversationally.

"Of course he does," Pamela snorted. "To have a girl follow you round literally like a lost puppy? Hanging on your every word and movement, just dying to be all over you and show you how much she loves you? Every man's secret dream," she smiled.

"Come on then," Moon sighed. She opened her side door and slid out, helping Pamela to find her feet on the dried out, cracked mud.

"This is a farm, isn't it?" Pamela guessed, sniffing.

"Looks like it used to be," Moon nodded. "The boys are nearly in the farmhouse. Here." She took Pamela's hand and laid it on her arm, closing the car door and making for the house.

She poked her head in the open back door to find the boys opening a map on the kitchen table, already bending over it and studying it at strange angles. Moon helped Pamela into the room before she looked around slowly. She took in the dusty pots and pans, the ancient wooden room, the disused feel to everything. She walked to the sink slowly, looking down at the tap tied up with a cloth, the rusted-out bottom to the basin.

"Charming place," she observed.

"It'll do the job," Dean sniffed. He put a finger out on the map in front of him. "There?"

"Looks like as good a place as any," Sam shrugged. "I still think we should put a devil's trap under it."

"And make it look like we want the bats to win? Why would demons come out to play if we did?"

"There are only three left," Sam pointed out, "the demons must think they're unstoppable now. And anyway, if we don't at least try to make it difficult for them, they'll know it's a trap."

"Sounds like… we're beyond laying traps at this point," Pamela said faintly, her head tilted to one side.

"Whut?" Dean asked quickly.

"Moon, honey?" the psychic said, putting her hand out. Moon hurried over to take it. "You might want to stick close to me."

"Whut?" Dean demanded again.

"Dean - get your dog before they rip your car to pieces trying to get to her," she instructed. Dean looked at Sam before turning and bolting from the kitchen door. "Sam - hope you're ready. We got incoming."

"Spider monkey bats?" he pressed, looking down at the brick wrapped up in patterned cloth on the table.

"Yup," she said bravely, as she felt Moon grip her hand tighter.

"_Damn_," Sam hissed, unwrapping the brick quickly and letting it drop to the table.

"That's good, right?" Moon asked as they heard noises from the kitchen door. Angel and Dean rushed back in, watching the rest of them. "I mean, we want the bats to get the brick, right?"

"The plan was they get to the brick the same time as the demons do," Dean breathed, slightly out of breath.

"Because?" Moon dared.

"Moon, they need human blood to open the seal," Dean said clearly. "And I do not want it to be from anyone here."

"Good point." She looked at Sam. "So what do we do?"

"We keep them hungry till a demon arrives."

.

.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Any views on this?_


	16. It's A Deal, It's A Steal, It's The Seal

**SIXTEEN**

**It's A Deal, It's A Steal, It's A Seal Of The Friggin' Century**

.

.

Dean reached into his deep jacket pocket, pulling out his handgun and checking it was loaded.

"Dean, you can't kill them," Sam said, surprised.

"Oh, I know that," he scoffed. "They ain't silver rounds, they're salt. I'm hoping it'll sting 'em enough to slow them down."

"Right," Sam realised. He looked at the brick. "It's out of the devil's trap cloth. You think that's enough to let demons know it's available?"

Dean crossed to the window. He looked out and up, spying three black shapes closing on the farmhouse.

"Gotta hope so," he managed. He turned and looked at Moon. "Ok, you and Pamela get deeper into the house. Find a closet, a fridge, anything they can't claw through. Got it?"

"Oh yeah," Moon said quickly. She paused to grab at something from the side counter as she pulled on Pamela's hand. She led her out of the kitchen hurriedly, disappearing into the ramshackle building as fast as she could hurry the blind woman.

Sam walked up to stand next to his brother, looking out of the window at the dark shapes.

"How's your shoulder?" he asked. "Your arm stronger now?"

Dean opened his mouth, then stopped and thought about it. "You know," he said curiously, handing his gun to his brother. He put his hand up to his left shoulder, lifting the shirt and putting his hand underneath, pressing on the white pad over the stitches. "Hardly hurts at all."

"What did you take?"

"I didn't," Dean said, surprised. "It didn't hurt so I didn't bother." He lifted a corner of tape experimentally, peeking underneath as best he could.

"Don't play with it," Sam hissed in disapproval.

"Woah," Dean breathed, and his younger brother was caught by the surprise in his tone.

"What? Is it infected?" he asked quickly. "That's all we need."

"No," Dean admitted. "It's ah… That's… _odd_."

Sam turned him round and pulled the jacket and t-shirt collar away from his neck, taking the liberated edge of the pad and lifting it. He studied it for a long second.

"Looks… good."

"Looks _very_ good," Dean said suspiciously. "Last night it was bleeding and kicking up, really hurting. Now it's acting like all that was three weeks ago."

"Definitely looks… better," Sam nodded, dropping the shirt and backing away one. "Maybe you're… just a fast healer."

"Yeah right," Dean snorted, adjusting his clothes and taking his gun back from his brother. "And maybe we better worry about that later." He looked back out of the window. "I don't suppose there's anything we can do to make some demon get here faster?" _Oh, I know_, his thoughts ran on, in a way that made it very clear he should not be voicing them, _why don't you call your girl-fiend Ruby and she can do the decent thing and sacrifice herself to set the bats free. Two birds with one stone_.

"I don't know," Sam sighed wearily. "Hey - when this is over?" he asked quietly.

Dean's head turned and he watched his brother fight with himself over something. "Whut it is?"

"Well… When this is all done with, can we…"

Dean waited, but it seemed Sam was having trouble putting words in the right order.

"Whut, Sammy? Spit it out, we ain't got all day," he pointed out, letting a little exasperation seep into his tone.

"Can we go somewhere with clean water - and no bats? Or… dogs?"

Dean eyed him, thinking. "Yeah," he allowed. "Clean water and no bats."

"Or dogs."

"Hot dogs?"

"Dean."

"Just clarifyin', Sammy."

"_Any_ dogs."

"That's gonna be hard - most towns have at least one dog," Dean pointed out with a face that had come straight out of the picture dictionary under 'deadpan'.

"You know what I mean."

Dean smirked and turned back to the window. "Nearly here," he observed. "Whut do we do with the brick? Leave it outside?"

"No idea. You know, a bit of divine intervention would go down well right about now," Sam grumped. "That angel put us onto this, he might as well give us the entire case file."

"It'd be a little late. Three bats - right there," Dean pointed out, nodding to the sky.

Three large black shapes were absorbing sunlight in a way no natural beast should. They flapped and tumbled like butterflies high on photocopier toner through the sunshine, almost in a loose formation. Tails whipped about, clawed fingers moved around as if to help the large wings stroke more effectively at the air. They still looked to be a good distance away, but the darkness they brought with them was chilling. They appeared to know exactly where they were headed.

"Angels, man. Always friggin' withholdin' something," Dean tutted.

There was a clicking noise behind them and they turned casually. Angel trotted on past them, springing down the step to the door, heading away from the farmhouse.

"Angel?" Dean havered. The boys' heads whipped round in an almost synchronised manoeuvre to look at each other in fear. Dean looked at the table and found it empty. The map was now on the floor, the brick gone. "Angel!" he shouted, dashing to the door. "Get back here! And bring the friggin' brick!"

Unsurprisingly, the dog did not obey. She simply skipped into a lazy run, galloping along quite happily until she slowed to a wander, lowering her muzzle to the dirt and dropping the purloined brick. She scratched at the ground for a moment before attacking it with both front paws in huge digging movements that threw the loose, dry soil up in clouds behind her.

Dean put a foot out of the door. Sam grabbed at his good shoulder but Dean slipped his grasp easily. He tore across the open dirt toward the dog.

Sam looked up as the first of the three shapes stopped its beeline for the house. It caught itself and hung back, and Sam had time to get a clear view. A round, straggle-furred body larger than Sam's head sported an almost cute, odd-shaped head. Large diamond shaped ears stuck out from odd places on it, the forearms sharing a shoulder with wings that would not have looked out of place on a black pirate ship. Rents and digs, slices and holes were all over them, and Sam wondered how it actually used them to stay in the air. Then he realised it probably had more to do with its supernatural status than any real relation to physics or aerodynamics. A long, possibly prehensile tail stretched out behind it and tiny feet poked out from beneath the body, but it was the bright green eyes that made Sam shiver.

It regrouped, flapping round in the air. It changed its mind about the farmhouse. It zeroed in on the man and dog.

Sam reached for his gun. He ripped out the magazine quickly, pushing the live rounds out and not caring as they spilled on the floor. He ran out of the kitchen door toward the Impala, hoping to get to it and his duffle with salt rounds before the second or third bat caught wind of him.

He bumped into the side of the car, looking through both windows to see Dean bending down toward the dog in the dirt. The youngest Winchester scrabbled at the door and got it open, yanking his duffle over and rifling through it with desperation.

He heard a shot fired and paused to look up. Angel was running straight for the house. Dean had his arm outstretched toward the huge monkey bat. It jerked upwards and away from him.

Sam picked up the entire duffle, turning and slamming the door closed. He shot off toward the kitchen door, making it just as the dog slid in and skidded right across the smooth floor. She bumped into the far wall, whimpering. Sam spared her glance but could see no wounds. He dropped the bag to the kitchen table. He opened it up quickly, searching for the box of salt rounds.

There was another shot, and another. Sam looked up for a second. He concentrated on the rounds again, sliding them out and snapping the magazine down out of his Taurus.

Angel skittered back to the door. She poked her head out, barking.

"Angel! Stay!" Sam cried firmly, rushing to get the magazine full of rounds. She barked and barked.

"Angel!" he called.

He turned to find her launching herself out of the door. Another shot from outside as she disappeared. Sam hissed curse words under his breath. He slapped the now fully loaded magazine back into the gun and ran to the door.

Dean was running full-tilt back toward the farmhouse. He caught sight of his brother and waved him back. Angel was bounding after him.

And after her were three angry-sounding black monkey bats.

Sam stepped back and looked around. He put the Taurus in his pocket and instead went to the table. He pushed it on its side, grasping it firmly and shoving it across the room. He heard dog claws on the tiles and turned.

Dean crashed through the doorway, hands grabbing at the frame. "Salt - not enough!" he panted.

"Great!" Sam bit out. "Move!"

Dean ran into the room. Sam shoved the table over the non-existent door, blocking the gap. Dean gulped in air, hurrying over and pushing against the back of it.

A second later there was an almighty crash and a thump against the other side. The brothers were hurled back in a huge bounce that nearly sent them to the floor. But they staggered and regrouped, flinging themselves against the wood.

"Salt's no good?" Sam cried over the scrabbling, snarling noise.

"Not good enough!" Dean confirmed. "But fire anyway - stopping power!"

Angel began to bark angrily. The Winchesters leaned against the table, keeping it over the doorway. The bats screeched and wailed in fury. The scratching, scrabbling sounds of desperation got louder and louder.

"They're gonna get through!" Sam realised.

"No shit, Sherlock!" Dean managed through gritted teeth. He turned, putting his back to the wood and pushing back with his heels. "There's never a demon around when you need one!" They grunted and struggled until Dean looked up. "Can you hold it?"

"What? Why?" Sam demanded, shocked.

"Hold it!" Dean cried. He pushed himself up and ran across the kitchen. He disappeared into the house and Sam swore, pressing on the table as best he could. Angel continued to bark threateningly and Sam wished the bats would understand they were supposed to be afraid of the animal.

Dean came running back into the kitchen. He went to Sam's duffle on the floor and ripped it open. He rooted around until he found what he wanted. He straightened and Sam saw the flare gun in his hand, loaded.

"Wha--"

"When I say run, you run for the stairs," the elder Winchester said firmly.

"Got it!"

Dean turned to the dog. "Angel!" She stopped barking and looked up at him. "Come here!"

She sprang over and bumped into his legs. Dean crouched down, the flare gun resting up against his left shoulder to point at the ceiling. She tried to lick his face but he grabbed her collar.

"Listen. Stairs! Stairs! Go!" he commanded. She just looked at him and he rolled his eyes. He got to his feet again and turned, pointing at the aforementioned exit. "Go!"

She bounded off and was already jumping up the first steps as he turned back to his younger brother.

"Right. Ready?"

"No!" Sam admitted. The table bounced and pushed at him, the yowling, screaming bats attacking the wood in a rage.

Dean crossed to the table, opening his hand out to reveal it held live rounds. He found pock marks and holes in the ancient table, pushing them in and hammering them tight with the end of the flare gun. "Get up the stairs. I got the brick in my pocket, they'll be after me. At the top of the stairs is a room on the right - with a solid wood door--"

"Is that where--"

"That's where the girls are - we get in and hope for a demon."

"Ok. Go," Sam nodded eagerly.

Dean stepped back to the door to the landing. He levelled the flare gun at the table by Sam's head.

"Little more to the right!" Sam said quickly.

"Your right or my right?"

"Dean!"

"I'm kidding, Sammy," he grinned. "Don't move."

"Just hurry up!"

"Shouting at me won't improve my aim," he tutted haughtily.

"Just hurry!"

Dean's aim wandered slightly and Sam frowned in horror.

"One thing?" Dean asked abruptly.

"What?"

"The dog stays till we find a proper home for her."

"What the hell! No!" Sam cried. "Just fire!" The scrabbling and hissing got worse.

"She stays."

Sam was bumped and shaken as the table bounced behind him. "Alright! Ok! Whatever!" he gabbled. "Just set fire to this goddamn table already!"

Dean smiled the grin of the triumphant. His finger squeezed gently at the trigger. The flare shot out and thunked into the wood, inches from Sam's right eye. He pushed back until he heard the hissing of a shell casing.

He threw himself forwards. Dean was already turning and running. He followed him as they heard the table thrown into the kitchen. There was a screaming, flapping sound as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

The live rounds heated up and exploded. They spread sparks and flames across the surface of the wood. The boys heard screaming and angry braying as they piled up the top of the stairs.

Dean slid across the wooden floor first, grabbing at the door handle to stop himself. "It's us!" he called through the door.

It opened and he fell inside, a dog bounding in between his heels. He jerked to one side to avoid trapping her between his knees. He lost his balance. Sam pounded through the door after him and all three went down in a heap.

Moon slammed the door behind them, turning the lock in the inside knob. She looked down at them fearfully.

"You guys ok?" she dared.

Dean was wheezing in breath underneath the two bodies flailing on top of him. He shoved at his brother irritably to shift the heavy weight so he could breathe. Sam was groaning and reaching for the floorboards, aided by Dean's impatient heave. Dean turned his attention to the dog, putting his hands to her side and sliding her off him much less forcibly than he had his brother. She slid to the floor with a bump, immediately squirming round and scrabbling at the wooden floor to get up.

Sam groaned and pushed himself to his hands and knees. He put a hand out to the table next to him, pulling on it to get up. He looked up and around, seeing Pamela standing against the wall. Her arms were folded as she apparently listened in silence. Moon was watching her in trepidation.

"Eeeeyiuu!" Dean protested suddenly, and Sam and Moon looked to see him putting a hand up and pushing Angel's tongue from his eyes and nose. "Will you stop doing that!" He rolled to his side and then his hands and knees. Angel put her teeth to the shoulder of his jacket, pulling, as if to help him up. He sat back on his heels, putting his hands up and scrubbing at her head affectionately, managing to pry her off. "I can do it," he asserted.

The dog stood back one, watching him avidly. Sam was already on his feet, dusting himself off.

"Thanks for leaving me with my eye," he said snidely.

"Hey, it was that or let them in before we barbecued the table," Dean protested. He got to his feet.

"You got the brick still?" Sam asked, feeling his head.

"Yeah, I got it." He put his hand in his pocket and felt around. "Ak! Oh. Crap."

"What?" Moon asked instantly.

Dean pulled his hand out of his pocket to reveal the brick.

In two pieces.

"That's just _great_, Dean!" Sam exploded. "You broke it! You broke the friggin' seal!"

"Relax, drama queen, it's just split in two. No-one's touched it with a silver knife or blood, ok?" Dean shot back. "It's just physically wrecked, we ain't caused any seals to break here."

"Demons," Pamela whispered.

They turned and looked at her, hushed by her news.

"Demons. A lot. A _very_ lot," she corrected. "A few miles. Not long."

"Great," Sam sighed. "So all we have to do is wait till they get here, try to hold them off long enough for the three remaining bats to somehow claw one of them up and use his blood to open the seal."

Pamela gasped suddenly, pushing herself back against the wall.

"Um, I don't think we have to," Moon said, eyeing her.

"What?" Sam asked quickly, then turned as Moon ran over, grasping at Pamela in fear. The girls slid into the corner of the room, almost visibly shaking. "What is it?"

"They're coming," Pamela whispered. "And they're angry."

"The demons?" Sam demanded. "Good! We need them!"

Dean looked down at the brick in his hand. "Uh, Sa-am?" he said timidly.

"How many demons?" Sam demanded, his attention all on the girls.

"Sa-am?" Dean dared in a strange, quietly guilty tone of voice.

"Moon! How many!" Sam cried.

"_Sam_!" Dean shouted.

Sam spun round to look at him. "What? We got who-knows-how-many demons on our--"

"It ain't demons," Dean said quietly.

He swallowed and Sam's eyes went down to the brick in his brother's hand.

And the blood from the cut on his palm, trickling over the edges of the brick.

"How did you do that?" Sam whispered.

Dean's face began to pull a small smile. It was almost innocent until it was hijacked by Guilt and Apprehension.

"How!" Sam cried.

Dean passed the brick to his clean left hand, putting his bloodied right back into his jacket pocket. He pulled out one of his back-ups: a small throwing knife.

Made of silver.

"You had them in the _same pocket_?" Sam gasped. "You _idiot_!" he erupted. "I take back _every_thing I said about wanting to be you, Dean! You idiotic, thick-headed, brain-dead son of a--"

"Well if you hadn't jumped on me like a werewolf in heat I wouldn't have landed on--"

"Maybe if your _dog_ hadn't got in the way--"

"Don't you blame this on Angel!"

"Stop!" Pamela shouted. "Does it matter now?"

The boys glowered at each other, but it was Dean who spoke first. "So I broke a seal, so what? All it means is that we don't need the demons to open it any more," he pointed out. "Those things that are coming - they're _bats_, Sam."

"Bats," he echoed, thinking.

"Bats! We did it - we broke the right seal, and now there's no way the demons can break the other one by killing the last bat - cos the brick's been broken open with silver and blood and the cavalry is arriving!" Dean snapped.

Sam closed his mouth.

"Um, question?" Moon piped up from the corner, still clutching at Pamela. The brothers looked at them. "When the demons get here - are they after us, or the bats?"

A loud slam bounced off the door and everyone jumped, turning to look at it.

"And I take it the bats already here have forgotten about the brick, and now just want to kill us?" she added fearfully.

"Quite possibly," Sam admitted, as the howling and scrabbling began again.

Moon swallowed and looked to the windows. "And when the demons get here?"

"We let 'em kill each other," Dean shrugged.

"And what about the winners?" Pamela gasped. "What about when - hopefully - all the demons are dead or driven away. What then, Dean? We going to outrun a huge colony of spider monkey bats who want our intestines as souvenirs?"

"Well look at this this way," Dean managed, a guilty smile on his face as he shrugged, "we got the right seal open. That's… ah… a start."

Sam tutted and marched over, snatching the two halves of the brick from him. "Give me those," he snapped, disgusted. He looked down at them in his hands. Then he looked up at the window. "The demons are the only ones who _don't_ know it's been broken, right?"

"Unless they get CNN before the bats," Dean nodded.

"So… They think they're coming for only three bats. And the brick."

"Yup."

"So… We need to set up an ambush," Sam nodded. Moon and Dean just looked at him. "We need the demons to zero in on the brick so that the monkey bats - and us - can surprise them, carve a big enough swathe through their ranks that they give up and retreat."

"Right," Dean nodded decisively, then paused. "How do we do that?"

Sam looked down at the broken brick in his hands. "We give them what they want. These," he said, shaking the halves of brick slightly.

"And we just set them up and stand back. Can we get popcorn at this Celebrity Deathmatch?" Dean asked sarcastically.

"We don't have a choice - or much time," Sam pointed out.

Dean's mouth opened and closed again. He threw his hands in the air, lost.

"You think this is going to work?" Pamela scoffed.

Angel, through a complex set of evolutionary steps and millions of years of generational betterment through breeding, none of which was her fault, said nothing. But she sat with a heavy thump, her legs spilling out next to her. Sam, Dean and Moon looked down at her.

And _then_ she whined. Piteously.

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	17. I Say We Take Off And Nuke The Entire Si

**SEVENTEEN**

**I Say We Take Off And Nuke The Entire Site From Orbit. It's The Only Way To Be Sealed**

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The hammering and scrabbling got louder against the door. Sam pulled the Taurus handgun from the back of his jeans. He checked the salt rounds and looked at his brother, who was already checking his own Colt 1911.

"Right," Dean said firmly, tapping the magazine against the stock before slamming the magazine back into place. He put his hand behind him and produced a Glock, holding it out to Moon. "Here."

"I'm not taking that," she said quickly, waving hands at it.

"It's loaded with salt," Dean pointed out.

"I don't do guns."

"Then what are you gonna use? Harsh language?" he pressed, then shook the firearm slightly. "Take it."

"Have a little faith in me, Dean," she snapped, raising her hand from behind her. In it was a rather large, copper-bottomed frying pan. "I think I've earned it."

He looked at her for a long moment. "Suit yourself," he managed, sliding the Glock into his jacket pocket. Angel barked at the door and began to growl, advancing on the wooden barrier between them and the spider monkey bats pounding at it. "Angel!" Dean snapped. She halted and looked back at him. Dean pointed at the far corner. "Get over there." She whined and looked back at the door. "Go!" Dean commanded. She let her head drop and padded over to the corner sullenly. Dean blew out a huff and looked at the door himself.

"So how do we do this?" Moon asked. "I mean - we're just waiting for demons to get here?"

Sam turned and picked up the two halves of the brick. "I'm going to stash this somewhere the demons will be able to find it."

"Like Hell you are," Dean protested. "We can't open that door, Sam."

"So what do we do? Stand here with our thumbs up our asses till the demons arrive?"

"We wait till they're clawing their way in too - then the bats will take care of 'em," Dean shot back.

"You won't have to wait long," Pamela said quietly. "I can hear them. I can hear them," she whispered.

Angel began to growl menacingly, but when they turned to look at her, she was aiming herself at the window.

"Angel!" Dean snapped. She took a step back from the window, still growling, but her ears flapped back in fear.

Moon edged back until she bumped into Sam. He put a hand to her arm and she turned to look up at him.

"You have to stick close to Pamela," he advised. "Do _not_ let yourselves get separated. Whatever happens."

"Ok," she swallowed. He released her arm and she crossed to Pamela, clamping her hand round her arm firmly. "Don't go anywhere without me," she said bravely.

"Kid, I ain't going anywhere without your eyes. There are stairs out there," Pamela joked weakly.

Dean crossed to the window, looking out. He straightened and then his gun hand dropped weakly. Sam caught the movement from the corner of his eye and looked over. Dean let his head tilt and then it dropped, looking at his boots. Sam recognised frustration when he saw it.

"What is it?" he demanded, crossing the room to the window too.

Dean rubbed a hand over his eyes. "They're cheating," he complained.

"What does that mean?" Moon asked.

Sam swallowed as he looked out at the open ground beyond the farmhouse's ramshackle stead. A great cloud of black, roiling anger was sweeping toward them. It shoved clouds and the very air aside as it rolled closer and closer to the house.

"That's just… not fair," Sam managed.

"What?" Moon dared.

"They're not even using hosts," Sam sighed. "They're just… black smoke. Which means…" He turned and looked at Moon and Pamela. "You two need some protection." He crossed to his duffle, sorting through it as quickly as he could. "Dude, where are the protection charms Bobby gave us?" he called over his shoulder.

"Probably at the bottom of all the crap you've got in there," Dean observed. He looked at Moon. "We still got our pentagram tattoos but you two will need what Sam gives you. Don't drop 'em or lose 'em," he warned.

Sam hauled his hand out quickly, crossing the room. "Here." He handed one to Moon and then took Pamela's hand, opening it up and pressing the tiny charm into it.

"Thanks," she managed tightly. Sam closed her hand slowly and then gave it a helpful squeeze.

Angel whined slightly at the window. Dean looked at her, then over at Sam's duffle. He went over and rifled through it, oblivious to Sam's huff of consternation, until he pulled out another charm. He crossed the room quickly, crouching in front of Angel.

"Dean - she's just a dog," Sam began.

But Dean was already prising open the ring on her collar, sliding the loop of the charm onto it. Angel, in her innocence, wagged her docked stump of a tail and panted in excitement, licking at his ear.

"You want her to get possessed and start ripping people's throats out?" Dean countered.

"He has a point," Pamela muttered, apparently to herself.

A howling, smashing noise ripped through the house downstairs. Dean got to his feet quickly, grasping Angel's collar. She stepped back and tried to get behind his legs, whimpering. The scrabbling and screeching against the door stopped abruptly.

Silence.

The humans didn't dare move. Even Angel appeared to be holding her breath.

Silence.

Dean let go of the dog's collar. He stole over to his brother silently, putting his hand out and picking up the two halves of the brick. Sam looked at him but Dean shook his head. He backed away, his careful boots making no noise as he retreated from the door.

Silence.

Sam drew his Taurus handgun and put one foot behind him. He crept backwards, away from the door.

Silence.

He reached the two girls, putting his left hand out and across them, to guide them backwards. Moon shuffled herself and Pamela back.

Silence.

Dean stood by the window. He looked down at Angel. Her long tongue was hanging out but her eyes were pinched, frightened. Dean put an index finger to his lips, pouting at her without a sound. She watching him avidly.

Silence.

Dean slipped one half of the brick into his pocket. The other he kept a good hold of in his right hand. He hefted his Colt in his left, watching the door carefully.

Silence.

Sam looked over at his brother, a cold chill sweeping over his shoulders.

The door exploded inward. Wood splintered. It shot out into the room. Everyone covered their faces with their arms. A howling, snarling gale filled the room. It swarmed and battered around the room, whipping at faces and surfaces.

Dean, his right arm over his eyes, slid to his right. He jerked his elbow out and smashed the window. His hand flew out and the brick sailed out of the new escape route.

Screaming. Ear-piercing, angry screaming. Sam and Dean looked up to see the black smoke funnelling out of the window. It piled out impossibly long, twisting round and round on itself as it rammed out of the makeshift exit.

The room was suddenly empty. Sam ran to the window, looking out. He saw the black smoke making a beeline for the tiny fallen lump of brick.

Dean rushed to the girls. "You two ok?" he demanded. He felt a pulling at his jeans and looked down.

"We're fine, we're fine," Pamela managed.

Angel yanked on Dean's trouser leg forcefully.

"We gotta get out of here," he concluded, looking over at Sam. "What they doing?"

"They're… It looks like they're inspecting it," he said, confused. "Where are the bats? Why are they letting them--"

Something blocked out the light from the window. A monstrous form swept in. Sam was picked up as if he weighed nothing. Dean turned in time to see his six-foot-four baby brother tossed across the room like a rag doll.

"Sam!" he bellowed. He turned to Moon. "Get Pamela out."

He turned, not bothering to check on Moon's movements. A huge black form loomed over him. The black wings were perfect and pristine. The head, bigger than Dean's entire body, pointed at him. The long spindly arms reached for him.

Dean didn't think. He lifted the gun and aimed for the glassy green eye. He fired. The salt pounded in and the creature screamed. Dean ducked under the huge wings. He slid across the floor, his free hand grasping at Sam's shirt over his front.

"Sam! Sam! Get up!" he ordered. Sam's eyes were closed, his face slack. Angel's head appeared next to Dean's elbow. She sank her teeth into Sam's jacket sleeve. She began to pull at it in short, sharp jerks.

Dean felt steel claws in his shoulder. He tried to turn. He was lifted off his feet. Something wooden collided with his head. He heard barking, growling. Something gave a peel of pain and anger. He struggled to open his eyes.

He found himself on his back and scrabbled to his hands and knees. He swung the gun round and fired at the back of the creature's head. It jerked up and away. Angel had her jaws clamped on its long, slippery tail. She let go as the bat-like monster tried to get height.

Dean skittered across the floor on his hands and knees. Angel turned to Sam. She licked directly at his nose as if he were made of bacon. Sam spluttered and his eyes opened weakly. He seemed disorientated. Dean reached his shoulder and grabbed. Angel put her teeth round his shoulder and yanked.

Between the man and his dog, Sam was pulled to sit up. Dean kept his gun on the spider monkey bat. It was twisting around itself in the air as if confused. Dean got to his feet, hauling his brother up with him. He half carried, half walked him to the door.

"Angel!" he called, pulling his shuffling brother with him. The dog bounded past them and down the stairs without further direction. Dean pocketed his gun, grabbing his wobbly brother with both hands. They stumbled down the staircase awkwardly, Sam tottering from side to side so far Dean wondered if he'd passed out.

They made it to the bottom and Dean's hands lost contact for just a second. Sam shot down vertically. He landed on the bottom stair, a hand to his head, leaning dangerously to his right.

"Hey! Hey!" Dean called sharply, crouching in front of him. He grabbed his head, turning him to see him. "Sam! Look at me!"

His younger sibling let his head be turned, blinking at Dean in confusion and pain.

"I think I hurt my head," he mumbled.

Dean studied his face, not liking what he saw. "I can see that. Look man, we gotta get out of here. There's some big-ass boss bat up there, and demons outside."

"I'll kill 'em," Sam managed bravely, putting a hand out to the stair as if to push himself up.

"No you will not," Dean snapped.

"But--"

Dean shook his brother's head once. "Sam. You are not Jedi'ing anyone or anything today. Do you understand?"

"But--"

"Sam! You can't even stand up straight. You got a head injury. You are not pulling your Darth Vader tricks today. We don't have time. We are leaving."

"Ok," he breathed, sounding like he didn't much care one way or the other.

Dean grabbed his jacket, hauling him up. Sam grasped at the bannister for stability and Dean took his other arm, pulling it over his shoulder and walking him from the bottom of the stairs.

"Dean! In here!" Moon shouted.

He followed the voice as he heard a flapping, snarling noise.

"Angel! Angel! Come her, darlin'!" he shouted desperately.

"I wish you could keep her," Sam muttered above his head.

"Angel! Get over here!" he bellowed.

"But you can't," Sam continued through his personal fog. "If you love her, set her free, man."

"Shut up Sam," he growled. He felt something whoosh past his legs and then Angel appeared in front of them, scratching at a door piteously. It opened and she raced in, barking in excitement. Dean followed and walked Sam through the gap. It slammed behind them and Moon leaned on it.

"What on sugmuk happened to you two?" she demanded.

Dean just walked his brother to a rickety chair, helping him collapse into it.

"He got tossed," Dean bit out. Sam slid sideways and Dean grabbed him quickly. "Sam! You listenin' to me?"

"Yeah," he mumbled.

Angel padded up and licked a sympathetic tongue over Sam's dangling hand. Dean pushed him to lean against the wall on his right. He stood back, lifting his own arm and pushing at something tickling the left side of his face. He looked at his jacket sleeve and found it was blood.

"Are _you_ ok?" Moon pointed out.

"I'll be fine," he grumped. "We got demons out in the yard wondering over some half brick, we got some friggin' huge bat thing upstairs having some kind of fit cos Angel bit it, and Sam's only half with us."

"I'm fine," Sam mumbled.

"Yeah, sure you are, champ," Dean sighed, wiping a fresh warm trickle from his face.

"Dean, let me look at that," Moon urged.

Something pounded on the closed door suddenly, making them all jump.

"You said there was just one huge thing, right?" Pamela asked nervously from the far wall.

"Yeah," Dean allowed. He wiped at his head again, looking back at Sam. "Sam. You gotta walk. Can you do that?"

"Yeah," Sam protested, his face screwed up in confusion. He put his hands out and wobbled. Dean leapt forward and prevented him from finding out how far he was from the floorboards. He steadied him, pushing him back against the wall solidly.

"Great," Dean bit out. There was another slam on the door. It refused to give, but it was obvious it wouldn't take long for whatever it was to get through it. "Where are those demons? Why aren't they going at each other instead of finding us?" he demanded angrily.

Pamela felt her way across the wall slowly, encountering Sam's shoulder. She put her hand out on it securely, holding them both up the right way.

"I have no idea. But I don't think we're safe here."

"Demons," Sam offered.

"We got to find some way to slip out of here unnoticed," Dean concluded.

"Demons," Sam said, slightly more loudly.

"And how do we do that?" Moon asked, casting frightened glances at the pummelling of the door.

"Let me think," Dean snapped.

"Demons!" Sam huffed.

Dean just looked at him for a long second. Then he dared to ask. "Whut?"

"Demons want the other half of the brick. The other monkey bats aren't here yet. The demons don't know they're coming."

"You sure?" Dean asked. "And how do you know--. Whatever."

"Give 'em the other half," Sam managed, putting a hand to his head and rubbing slowly.

"They've already got one half, what good will the other--"

"Not the demons. The big bat thing," Sam hissed painfully.

Dean pulled the other half of the brick from his pocket. He looked at it speculatively, then over at the weakening door being pounded from the other side.

"That's a monkey," Moon trembled, stepping back quickly and finding Pamela's arm. She gripped it tightly.

Dean looked around quickly, lifting his arm to wipe away another bloody dribble. "You girls stay with Sam. Don't let Angel follow me," he said quickly.

"Why? What are you going to do!" Pamela gasped.

"Don't let those three out of your sight," Dean warned Moon very clearly. She nodded.

"Dean!" Pamela cried urgently. He turned to look at her, watched her put her hand out. He stepped forward, letting her fingers touch the front of his jacket. "You're an eye-ist asshole," she snapped, as her fingers turned. She pulled him toward her. "But don't die."

"You're worried about me?" he teased, and for a moment it sounded as though he were about to smile.

"I'm worried Sam would have to drive the car back. I don't want him to sing," she blustered.

Dean smiled, putting a hand up to release hers. She pulled slightly harder and her other hand found his jaw. She turned his head, bringing his ear close to her lips.

"Sam will need you more than ever, pretty soon. And it would be a waste of that fine packaging you got going on if you died." She put her hand to his upper arm, as if testing the width before she pushed him away gently. "Go and do your stupid hero thing. We'll be right here."

Dean's hand went to her shoulder and she smiled at the slight squeeze. Then it was gone. She heard his boots go to the door.

Dean leaned against the wooden exit, counting seconds between the blows. Suddenly he whipped the door open and was gone.

The banging stopped. Angel whined, sitting on the floor suddenly. Moon looked at Sam, laying a hand on his shoulder as he rubbed his head, apparently oblivious.

"Moon," Pamela said quietly.

"What?"

"Assuming we all survive this… if you're not going to sleep with Dean, can I have him?"

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* * *

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Dean hurled himself at the hallway. He caught sight of the door and ran for it in desperation. He felt the sweep of wings behind him, heard the screech of anger. He pounded down the hallway. He collided with the closed door. It splintered and he flew through it. He landed on his left shoulder on the kitchen floor. He grunted, expected pain. It didn't happen.

He pushed himself to his feet. He spotted the open door and the black cloud of demons beyond. He began to run for it.

His feet slipped on the surface under him. He found himself dangling in the air. He twisted and grunted, but there was nothing to grab hold of. Long fingers swept over him as he kicked and struggled.

He swung his boots forwards abruptly. Then he rammed them backwards. There was a howl of protest as they connected with something. He fell to the floorboards on his head. He shook it desperately. He put his hands out and began to crawl to the doorway.

His foot stopped dead behind him. Something hauled on his boot. He growled something unkind and stuck his hand in his pocket. He pulled out the half brick and judged distances to the doorway. He slid back, bending his knees. The pull on his leg weakened and he got to his knees. He wound his arm back and pitched the half brick as hard as he could.

They may have shared a name, but not even the great Dizzy Dean could have pitched such a tremendous achievement. Dean Winchester landed on his face from the force of putting his back, shoulder and pretty much everything else into the lob. But the brick sailed through the air as if jet-propelled. It flew fast and straight and true, and for a split-second Dean was actually quite proud of a skill he had not called upon since the Little Leagues.

The brick zipped straight into the black cloud of arguing, roiling demons. The cloud parted and appeared to stare down at it. Dean scrabbled to one side of the room. He dared to look behind him at the huge bat-like monkey hanging in the air. Its face was definitely furry and as non-human as he could possible imagine, but it also looked strangely pissed off.

"Kiss it," Dean grinned, with childish vindication.

The Atellterron didn't even spare him a glance. It stroked angry wings and flung itself out of the open door, nearly taking his head off in the process.

Dean ducked and shielded his head. Then he peeked out from under his arm.

The creature was in the middle of the demonic cloud. Terrible screams of anger, pain, revenge filled the air.

Dean pulled himself to his feet. "Sometimes you just have to realise that, as good as you think you are, there will always be someone better," he chuckled, dusting off his sleeves. He sniffed to himself, wiping the bloody trickle from his temple again. "And tonight, ladies and gentlemen, that someone is Dean friggin' Winchester."

He looked up to see the cloud of demons and the single monkey bat converging on the kitchen door toward him.

"Oop - _crap!_" he blurted.

He turned and bolted for the hallway.

.

.

* * *

_**The chapter title, and of course Dean's comment about using harsh language, are both from Aliens. Obviously. :)**_

_**Comments / feedback welcomed. :)**_


	18. Some People Juggle Seals

**EIGHTEEN**

**Some People Juggle Seals**

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.

In an uncomfortably familiar way, Dean ran for his life.

Normally this included him trying to fire a gun while running in the opposite direction. Today it included no weapons. Just pounding down the hallway, knowing that a huge monkey bat and a raging cloud of demons were behind him. Getting closer.

He reached a door and grasped the doorknob. Something yanked at his foot. He slipped straight down and cracked into the floor. Fire exploded up through his cheekbone. He put his hands to the floor to get up.

He froze as something whisked over his back. Something screamed. Something roared. Something stroked the air with furious anger. He dared to turn his head slowly, pushing himself up on one side to look above him.

The black smoke was trying to encase the large bat. It was angry enough to keep its wings and tail thrashing. It was making it very difficult for the smoke to accomplish anything. Another sound joined the fray.

It was slight at first. Distant. The barely discernible _whop-whop-whop_ was not even enough to catch Dean's attention. Until it started to become a hum, a steady thrumming of repetition. He got to his hands and knees, crawling further down the hallway, trying to remember in which room he had left everyone. The new noise became louder and louder. He shuffled faster.

He reached the next door and put his hand up, turning the door handle carefully. Before he could push the door open he realised what the _whop-whop-whop_ was. He turned his head fearfully. He was correct.

A huge new cloud was piling into the space currently occupied by the smoke and monster bat. It was also roiling, screaming, angry, just like the demonic cloud. But this one was a fighting, spitting, clawing, raging cloud of monkey bats. Some small, some large, all trying to find some dark smoke to obliterate. A part of the cloud broke off. It aimed itself as Dean.

Dean turned back to the door smartly. He pushed it open as he felt something whisk past his back. He threw himself in through the door. Something clutched at his right shoulder and he was halted mid-hurl.

**_DONG!_**

The abrupt and earth-shattering metallic crash echoed so close to his head he thought an ear drum might have exploded. He rolled onto his back. His boot came up and slammed the door shut.

He stared at the door, swallowing in trepidation, getting some breath back.

"You ok?" Moon dared from behind him.

He hiked his elbows under him and looked up at her. He opened his mouth but did a double-take.

Moon was standing over him, almost trembling from either fear or adrenaline - or a combination of both. She had her arms up, her large copper-bottomed frying pan held aloft and ready to be swung again.

"Ye-ah, thanks to you and your lethal weapon," he managed. "Could you… lower that a little?"

"Oh!" she breathed, surprised. "Yeah." She let it drop to dangle loosely at her side, blowing out a rough sigh.

Dean felt something snuffling at his ear and turned with a smile. Angel didn't hesitate. She stuck her tongue out and licked from his chin right up over his face. Dean's smile evaporated in an instant. "Nice to see you too," he sighed wearily.

"Did you get them the brick?" came Sam's voice. Dean pushed himself up to sit, looking round. Sam was still on the wooden chair, but now he was holding his head and looking much more awake.

"Yeah. Cavalry's here. They're duking it out in the hallway," Dean allowed. "Which means we should be somewhere else."

"Window?" Moon asked. Dean climbed to his feet laboriously.

"Window," he nodded.

"We're just going to leave them here?" Pamela asked. But she was already feeling her way across the wall.

"Oh yeah," Dean nodded. "They don't need us any more, they've got their arch enemies to scrap with. And like you said, whoever wins is _not_ going to be thanking us for bringing them together." He crossed the room to the window, looking out. "Car's round the other side," he noted. He looked at Sam. "You ok?"

"As I'll ever be," he managed. He got to his feet, joining his brother at the window. "At least this time we're on the ground floor."

"Yeah," Dean allowed. He looked round at everyone before putting his hand out for Pamela's arm. There was a crash outside in the hallway before a thump hit the door. "Right then. Last one in the car's buying the burgers."

He guided Pamela to the window and between him and Sam, they had her out in the dying sunshine. Moon skittered over the edge with a lean on Sam's arm, and then he followed easily. He turned back to find Dean bending down.

"What you are--. Oh," Sam realised.

Dean straightened, the huge dog in an awkward arrangement in his arms. Dean strained and heaved to get Angel over the window ledge. She struggled to get free and caused him to drop her. She landed on her feet none the wiser, and immediately Dean's boot came over the wooden ledge.

The door gave a rattle and a thump. Dean didn't look back. He leapt out of the window and took the lead, heading off round the side of the building, toward the Impala.

.

* * *

.

A night in a cheap motel room served everyone very well. Sam's head stopped trying to perform a whirling dervish manoeuvre every time he moved it, and Dean's head ceased leaking blood every time he thought Moon had patched it. Pamela and Moon retired to their own room and the older woman managed to swing her own, huge bed. Back with Sam and Dean, Angel managed to climb up onto her favourite human's bed and sleep on his feet.

As the morning brought aches, pains, relief and closure, it also brought coffee - courtesy of Sam.

"C'mon, Dean," he called brightly, opening the motel room door. "Rise and shine."

He shut the door with his foot and carried the cardboard holder to the table between the two beds. He set down the two cups and looked over to see his brother still very much enjoying the pillow in which his head was currently buried. Angel was snoring more loudly than the Winchester whose feet she was warming, her own paws twitching every now and again.

Sam couldn't help but smile as he sat on his own bed, shaking his head slightly. He pulled the bottle of water and the small box of dog biscuits from his pocket.

"Dean," he called.

His brother did not stir and Sam sighed. He sat back and took in the way Dean was sleeping like he'd been dropped from a great height: one arm dangling over the edge, the other under his pillow, his head ensconced deep within the fluffiness. He watched Angel for a moment, shaking his head.

"Guess we did have a hard time on this one," Sam allowed. He got up, content to leave the pair of them snoring, and went back out of the room. He closed the door quietly, going next door to the girls' room and knocking lightly.

"Minute," came the cheerful response. He waited and then the door opened.

"Morning," Pamela said, and Sam blinked. Without her sunglasses she appeared bright, breezy, alert. And she was smiling a touch too broadly.

"Hey, Pamela," he smiled. "What's got you so cheerful this early in the morning?"

"Come on in first," Pamela allowed, standing back. Sam walked in and she closed the door behind him. He found Moon sat on her bed, brushing her hair. She looked up.

"Hey," she smiled.

"Right," Sam havered. "Someone want to tell me what's making you two so happy?"

"Moon has decided to come stay with me for a little while," Pamela announced, walking back across the room slowly. She felt her way to the chair by the TV, sitting slowly.

"Really?"

"Really," Moon confirmed. "I just think… well, I think I might be useful. And I like Pam - she has a dirty sense of humour," she grinned.

"It's only dirty if no-one else has tried that position," Pamela smiled, wagging a finger in her direction.

Sam snorted in amusement. "O-k. So when we--"

"Ah… We'd kinda like to… Well, me and Pamela want to… get back to her place by ourselves. If that's ok," Moon interrupted hesitantly.

"You don't want us to drive you back?" he asked, surprised.

"Face it, Sam, you smell, Dean sings, and that dog freaks us both out," Pamela teased. "Moon and I just want to roadtrip by ourselves. Y'know, girls together."

"Well ok, if you're happy doing that," he shrugged. He looked around, seeing all their things packed and ready. "Will you at least accept a ride to the bus station?"

"I'll take the ride, and she'll go to the bus station," Pamela put in swiftly.

Sam just laughed, but Moon waved a hand at him.

"Actually? We have a ride," she said bravely.

"You do?" Sam managed.

"Uh-huh," she nodded. "You're not the only one who gets up early. And we'd like to get started. This place is not exactly full of happy memories."

"I know exactly what you mean."

.

* * *

.

Dean heaved the sleeping animal from his feet and rolled out of bed before pushing himself into the shower. The coffee by the bed might have been cold when he emerged, but it did not detract one iota of power from its magical properties as he sank the entire cup.

He opened the small box of biscuits he found next to the cup and tossed them one-by-one at the now very much awake Angel while drying himself off and finding clothes. He rinsed out the huge cup and filled it with water, crouching in his jeans to watch her plunge her head in the vessel and lap up the contents. He refilled it and was happy to scratch at her head and ears while she hoovered that up, too.

"There you go, sweetheart. We'll get you more before we ship out, ok?" he promised, setting the cup on the table again and scrubbing at her head and neck with both hands. She whined and squirmed in happiness, pawing at his jeans and trying to lick his face.

"Yeah yeah. Come on, I gotta find a shirt." He patted her back down and got to his feet, finding his duffle and emptying it out. He rooted through until he found a t-shirt. He sniffed it to identify the level of cleanliness, judged it high enough, and pulled it on over his head.

"You appear almost healed," said a familiar, quiet voice from behind him.

Dean turned to find the angel stood watching the dog with patent approval.

"Yeah, damndest thing, man," he muttered, lifting his t-shirt sleeve and peering at the now much-improved shoulder wounds. "They just like… sealed up, got three weeks better overnight." He dropped the cotton again. "No idea why, though. Guess I'm just a fast healer," he added, puzzled. He missed Castiel's blatant roll of the eyes as he turned back to the bed.

Castiel watched him with a decided amount of weariness, then back down at the dog, thinking. She sat down with a _plonk_, her tongue hanging out as she looked up at him. Castiel turned and walked to the table under the TV, watching his hand land on the surface.

"You interfered."

"Don't start with that again," Dean sighed. He sat on the bed, twisting to pick up all his clothes, starting to roll them up. Angel trotted over and lay down, getting comfortable at his toes. "You know what I keep thinking about?" he asked conversationally.

"Had I to guess, I would say human females," Castiel sighed, turning to lay a withering glance on him. He put his hands on the table behind him, leaning back on them wearily.

Dean didn't even acknowledge the dig. "Right from the out-set you told us you couldn't get involved. But you've still been bugging us from day one."

"I was instructed to advise you against charging in and endangering a seal," he said darkly.

"Oh ye of little faith," Dean smiled maliciously, pointing a finger at him.

"You have history," the angel countered.

Dean's smile died by degrees. He looked down at the dog laid out on the carpet, one of her paws overlapping his bare foot protectively. Her complete ignorance of the conversation, and the meaning to everything they had accomplished in the last few days, suddenly hit home. Dean considered her in silence for a long moment. Eventually he worked his way up to the real weight on his mind.

"Are we gonna win this?" he dared quietly.

Castiel appraised his shoes. "It is what I pray for."

"That's a no if ever I heard one," Dean sighed, prompting the angel to look up at him. Dean leaned forward, running a hand through his hair with just the slightest air of desperation.

Angel felt the movement and looked up at the human, hoping he was about to pat her head. When he didn't she looked at Castiel, appearing forlorn. The angel simply returned her gaze, his head tilted slightly as he regarded her with customary curiosity. She set her chin back down on the floor, a slight huff rippling her jowls as she did so.

Castiel turned his attention to the human, a strange, alien feeling encroaching on his conscience. He had no idea what it was or what it meant, but for some reason it was nudging him to change the current topic of conversation.

"What is it you keep thinking about?" the angel ventured, hoping to employ the same subject-shifting strategy he had heard the boys use on just such occasions.

Dean let his hand drop and met Castiel's eyes.

"That either a human or something else unaffected by salt put that brick at the bottom of the lake," he said slowly.

"That would be reasonable," Castiel allowed with an alarming amount of caution.

Dean smiled slyly. "The monkey bats aren't affected by rocksalt enough when you shoot at 'em, but I'm betting a lake like that would really slow 'em down. And they couldn't seem to be able to sniff it out down there."

"Which was unfortunate."

"So they didn't stash it down there - and they had no reason to anyway. Demons couldn't have got it down there either."

"Perhaps."

"Angels did this, right?" Dean challenged. "Back when demons weren't really a problem."

"Did you consider the possibility that a demon simply threw it at the lake?" Castiel asked mildly. But he was letting his blue eyes wander everywhere around the room - everywhere Dean Winchester was not.

"I did," Dean smiled craftily. "C'mon, Cas. Who put it down there? 'Fess up, you've been rumbled."

"I do not know who put it down there," Castiel said simply, turning to pin the human with a look. Dean detected no obfuscation, no attempt at avoidance.

"Right," he allowed.

"I do know… It was done on behalf of Lucifer."

"Lucifer?" Dean blurted. "Why?"

"It seems he… foresaw a certain advantage in culling 'monkey bats' through time."

"Friggin' sneaky bastard," Dean breathed, shaking his head. "But despite everything, we didn't charge in and break the wrong seal anyway."

"I never feared you would," Castiel said quietly.

"You said you were stopping us from--"

The angel sighed. "It was _felt_," he stressed, leaning his head forward slightly, "that you Winchesters would somehow…"

"Fumble the ball?"

"As you say. However, not everyone in the garrison thought you would fail. Some of us had faith."

"Some of you?"

"One of us."

It was quiet for a long moment. Dean appeared thoughtful, troubled. At last he looked at the angel.

"Thanks, Cas."

The angel shrugged, as if he cared neither way. "Have we covered everything?" he asked quietly.

"You mean are we done here?" Dean smiled, looking down at the patient dog at his feet. "Well, I think we're past the awkward 'thank you - no no, thank _you_' moment." He smiled, reaching down and scratching the dog's head. Angel lifted it immediately, letting her mouth fall open and her eyes sink closed in pleasure.

There was no answer and Dean looked up.

As he had expected, Castiel was gone.

.

* * *

.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" he asked quietly, leaning on the counter. The girl smiled.

"I've been waiting," she admitted.

He just blinked. "If you were lookin' to get a dog, where would you go?" Dean asked innocently.

"Get a dog?" she prompted, seemingly disappointed. "Like… a dog?"

"Yeah, y'know," Dean shrugged. "My brother likes puppies," he grinned.

She smiled again, putting her elbows on the high counter and leaning on them. "Well… Best place? Swit's Dog Recycling," she replied.

"Recycling?"

"Their little joke. They got all them strays, unwanteds, you know," she added.

"Right," he havered.

"But the dogs are always looked after - my uncle got his Staffy from there. And they do seem to genuinely care for the animals. They got big breeds too."

"Oh, he's definitely a small, fluffy yapper type of man," Dean asserted with a malicious smile.

"I'll bet. Anyway, it's about sixty miles down the road. You probably won't make it there today. They close at six but they stop entry at four."

"Well ain't that a shame," Dean nodded, looking very pleased. "Guess we'll have to just wait till tomorrow, huh?"

"Oh - tomorrow's Monday," she pointed out. "They're open weekends but they're closed Mondays - just to tidy up after visitors and the like."

"Ah well," Dean sighed, a sudden light in his eyes, "we could wait till Tuesday."

"Oh hey - if you want directions, call me." She pulled out the motel's name card and snatched up a pen, scribbling on it quickly. She slid it across the counter. "If it helps."

Dean picked it up and committed the number to memory. He nodded and then winked at her. "Just might do that. Thanks."

He picked up his duffle and walked out of the motel, catching up with the three people and the dog standing between two cars.

"This your ride?" Dean asked, looking over the red Dodge Charger with the grey front wing. "Looks kinda familiar."

"Well Gary Lands ain't going to need it," Pamela put in. "Besides, we changed the plates. Sam gave us some out of your trunk."

"Did he," Dean bridled, looking at his younger sibling. But Pamela was following Dean's voice and she put her hands out. He realised he was being called upon and walked forward. Her fingers hit the front of his lone t-shirt and she grinned.

"Mmm, there's something you don't feel every day." She flattened her hands against his chest, sliding them outwards slowly. "That's the trouble with being blind, you have to do everything by touch."

"I'm sure," he allowed, as she put her arms under his and round his back. There was a brief, mutual hug, and she pulled him away by his arms.

"Now quit calling me. I ain't your personal psychic, I've got millions of people dying to _pay me_ for my valuable services," she smiled, but there was a slight edge to her voice Dean recognised all too well. She sighed wistfully to herself, shook her head sadly, and let go of his arms.

Sam was looking at Moon. "You going to be ok now?"

"I think I am," she said, "finally." She stepped up to him and wrapped her arms round his taller form gratefully. "Thanks, Sam. Sunny missed you."

Sam didn't answer, but he put his arms round her warmly. _I think I miss me too_.

Moon pulled him away and went to Dean. Pamela put her hands out and waved Sam toward her.

"Come here, Sam. Where's mine?" she teased. Sam chuckled and put his hands to her shoulders. She snaked her arms around him, crushing him against her with strength he always forgot she had. He smelt her perfume, felt her warmth pressed against him, was glad she was so vibrant and alive.

Then he felt her hand smoothing over the back pocket of his jeans. She squeezed and gave a decidedly dirty chuckle in his ear.

"Yup, still there," she oiled, releasing him and standing back. "You boys take care, ok?"

"We will," Sam beamed. Pamela turned and reached out for the car, finding the door handle and pulling it open. Sam bent and put his hand to her head gently, preventing her from banging into the door arch. He closed the door for her and leaned on it.

"Thanks for everything. Again," he added warmly.

"You can thank me by leaving me alone for a while," she remarked drily. "Go make sure Dean doesn't do anything unnatural with that dog." She patted at his hand on the door and he grinned, turning to find his brother.

Dean and Moon were behind him a little way, glued to each other as if any wisp of air between them would be charged for. She was grabbing onto him desperately, her arms tight around his back, her hands gripping the backs of his shoulders for dear life. Dean simply had his huge arms round her back, but she leaned her head against his neck and closed her eyes.

"Do I get a brain-hug this time?" he teased, and she chuckled.

"You can have," she allowed grandly, her cheek still pressed to his neck, "my bestest, most specialest brain hug _ever._"

He closed his eyes and for a second, barely a second, he felt it. A warm, relaxing, comforting feeling that everything was understood, everything was forgiven. The ugliness of the things he had done, the conflict over the ends justifying the means, it was all scraped up and mixed with water, moulded into bricks and used to build the new walls he needed. The new surface of the wall dried, the story of its creation recorded. It was set down in The History Of His Soul, Volume Four, and with her hands steadying the ladder, he climbed up to the correct dusty bookshelf and pushed it on securely, wiping his hands of it.

The feeling was gone as abruptly as it had arrived. He opened his eyes and she lifted her head from his neck. She looked up at him, still holding him tightly.

"That better?" she asked cheekily.

"God, I love psychics," he teased. She released his shoulders at last, sliding her hands down his arms, secretly pleased he did not yet have a heavy shirt or jacket on.

"Ok, time to go. I have your number."

"Good. You run into any trouble, you call us."

"Oh, I will," she warned. She winked, squeezed at his ample biceps, then let him go. She turned and walked around the car, opening the door and sliding into the driver's seat.

Pamela gave a little wave in the general direction of the boys' voices and Sam bent down to wave at Moon through the Charger.

"Bye Sam! Keep him and Angel out of trouble!" she called.

"I'll try!" he shrugged.

She started the car, revved it over a few times, and then spun off toward the road.

Sam watched, shaking his head, as the car found the main road. The horn honked twice and hands came out both side windows, waving in the dusty air. Dean appeared next to him, watching.

"You think they'll be alright?" Sam asked with a smile.

"I think they'll be _great_," he chuckled. He took a deep breath, looking around. "So, is this all wrapped up now?"

"Looks like," Sam nodded.

They turned and walked back to the Impala, Sam opening the door and sliding into the passenger's seat. Dean opened the rear door, waving Angel in and onto her blanket. She hopped up and turned around, watching him close the door. He got in the driver's door and she lifted her head and rested it on the top of the seat next to his shoulder. He grinned, turning and scrubbing at her head soundly. She snuffled and stuck her tongue out, extremely impressed.

"Can we go now?" Sam sighed.

Dean gave Angel's ear one last scratch before turning to the ignition again. "Sure."

"Did you find a place for her to go to?"

"Yeah. Only we'll miss them tonight and they don't open till Tuesday."

"Dean."

"Whut?"

"You're doing this on purpose."

"Am not! Look, the girl said it was the best place cos they look after their animals," he protested. He nodded to the motel entrance. "Go in and ask if you don't believe me."

Sam sighed to himself, wishing his life had not boiled down to removing every last pleasure from his brother's day. _He loves the mutt. He should be allowed to keep her. But… really? She is not looking at a decent life span if she stays with us. It's for the best_.

Dean realised his brother hadn't spoken and looked at him. Sam was still looking at the dashboard like he was trying to comfort it after it had heard the plant that had made it had just burnt down. Dean did a double-take at his expression.

Sam noticed and tried to wipe his face clear. Unsuccessfully. "What?" he asked quickly.

"Ok seriously - did she learn that look from you or did you learn that look from her?" Dean asked, his thumb indicating the dog behind him, watching the younger brother with definitely pinched eyes.

"Shut up."

Dean grinned as he started the car. He reversed her out and into the road slowly, sliding her into Drive and taking off down the road. Angel moved across her blanket on the back seat to stick her head out of the rear window, and it caught Dean's eye as he checked his side mirror. He chuckled to himself.

"What now?" Sam asked.

"Nothing," Dean said quickly. "Anyway. Job done, girls going home together, one bad seal intact. Everything's cool."

"Yeah," Sam allowed.

Dean looked at him side-on before watching the road. "Whut?"

"Nothing."

"Ok."

It was silent for a good twenty minutes.

"It's just that - you know what I don't get?" Sam asked with abrupt urgency.

"Girls' phone numbers?" Dean hazarded.

Sam sighed quietly. "To open the brick and therefore the seal, we were supposed to use a silver knife."

"Which I kinda did when I smashed 'em together in my pocket," Dean admitted.

"With the blood of an innocent man on it?" Sam added.

"Well I cut ma hand on the--"

"That's my point - since when have you been innocent?" Sam grinned.

Dean's mouth worked silently as the question went round his head. He latched onto something and went with it. "There are degrees of innocence, Sam," he blustered.

"Dude, is there a single one of the ten commandments you haven't broken?" he chuckled.

Dean's face scrunched up as he thought about it. "Uh… Don't know. What are they again?"

"That's a no," Sam laughed.

"No, there's gotta be one," Dean protested. He put his hand out, waving it in a circle at his brother. "List 'em."

"What? Why?" Sam chuckled.

"Do it. C'mon dude, list them," Dean offered.

"Dean, I am not even going to bother checking. Just be happy that someone 'up there' still considers you innocent enough."

Angel barked from the back seat, but Dean was quiet for a long moment. Then his eyes slid to his younger brother before his head turned to look at him.

"What?" Sam dared.

"Well… say that I had… I'd borrowed your phone to call some chick… and then later I told her that irritating Blackberry thing was actually mine so she'd be impressed… Would that constitute coveting your neighbour's possessions?" Dean asked, unsure.

"You're joking," Sam stated, pretending he wasn't smiling on the inside.

"No. If I was joking I'd say…" He paused, his eyes sliding from side to side as he thought. He snapped his fingers suddenly. "If I was joking, I'd say: when is a seal not a seal?"

He turned a beatific smile on his younger sibling. Sam thought about it, shaking his head. Dean opened his mouth, but Sam had a flash of inspiration and tried to reply first. It brought the two brothers' next sentence entirely into sync, one voice lower, one voice thinner, but both of them very much amused:

"When it's a _bat_."

.

**FIN**

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* * *

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Ta for reading to the very end, everyone! I promise I will try to make my next tale a damn sight shorter - I honestly thought this one was never going to end. Hope you spotted the not-too-subtle _**Firefly**_ reference, too…

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